A Legacy of Faith
by Zeech
Summary: This story is an account of the years 3012 - 3019 in a timeline where Eowyn and the doomed Boromir met in their youth and found love.
1. 3012

A Legacy of Faith

---          flashback

--- --- --- scene change

//             present time

If one were to inquire as to how and when they met Eowyn would recall nothing of their time together, save that it was a series of meetings and sensations and moments of madness in a dark time. The memory of when they first truly discovered one another never surfaced again after the lost seconds when she first looked into his proud face. Eowyn knew only that they had met, they loved, and one day he departed her world and never returned. News of anywhere other than Gondor seldom reached the walls of Rohan, and had Eowyn known where Boromir son of Denethor was she would have given up faith long ago -- for under the same warming rays of sun, and the crystal blue sky, Boromir was dying.

His words came from a throat strangled with effort as blood leaked from a broken body through the way of his mouth, seeping between his lips; stark, red and cruel against his ghostly pale skin. Aragorn hovered over him, speaking breathlessly and trying not to let his broken will fall through his words. Nothing it seemed could keep Boromir from slipping into the final stages of his passing. 

And it was true; blackness was washing over Boromir's vision and eating away at his senses as his body failed and blanched at the last, unable to support him. The very air around Boromir was thick and bitter, and it scoured his throat with every gasping breath. Aragorn worked feverishly above him, wrapping his bloody fingers around the shaft of one of the arrows and preparing to remove it.

--- 

Faramir had been grinning all morning, and the grin only widened a few centimeters by the time he finally handed his brother the package wrapped in brown paper. 'For your thirty-fourth year alive, brother. Happy Birthday.' Hesitance crossed Boromir's gaze as he weighed the possibilities of this being some harmful prank Faramir was famous for on each of his birthdays.

'You should not have bothered, Faramir.' He said after a moment and tucked it under his arm with a smile before he mounted his steed. Boromir chucked the reins. 'There is no time.'

Faramir gently dug his heels into his horse and sided up to Boromir's as they headed forward. 'Have you any idea why Theoden King sent for our return the same day we were to head back to Minas Tirith?'

'No, but the journey from Rohan to Gondor is not an easy, or short route.' the older man looked grim. 'I certainly hope there is good reason for it.' Faramir smiled inwardly, thinking of the expression on his brother's face when all of Rohan (most, anyway) would suddenly appear from out of nowhere and –

'Aye, probably another Orc raid, brother.'

They said no more as they left their camp and followed the messenger back to Rohan through the day. They had left not a day before, so the journey back was not long, for they had not traveled far upon their departure. Boromir's men and Faramir's men had stayed behind, for they were weary with fatigue and were supposed to be in the captain's stead. There was no sign of them along the way until they approached the 

gates of Rohan.

The messenger was first to dismount, then Faramir and finally Boromir. They were met with guards this time and the guards held grim faces and eyes that all seemed fixed on Boromir, and the wind blew colder as they approached. The heir of Denethor tilted his head in wonder.

'Boromir of Gondor,' the first began, pulling chain links from his belt. 'You are under arrest.'

Faramir's eyes widened and he looked from his brother to the messenger, then to the guards; his voice was unusually high and piped. 'On what charge, sir?'

'You'll find out soon enough, captain.' the second guard said, binding Boromir's wrists securely and seizing his arm. Boromir began to resist, but Faramir's hand gripped his elbow hard. 

'No, brother, first let us see if we cannot solve this matter through words.' he looked to guards, then into his brother's indignant grey eyes. He smiled this time, and Boromir caught a glint of something in his younger brother's eyes. 'This must be a misunderstanding, Boromir. Worry not.'

Boromir was lead through the gates, the guards hauling him through with their hands clamped onto each of his great arms, Faramir in their stead. It seemed quiet at they crossed the first courtyard. Too quiet, and Boromir was about to say something of it when there was a sudden roar of applause and the Riders of Rohan and other servants flooded out from behind the walls and statues and the open doors. Their young friend, Eomer (now a full twenty years old and nearly a man) was the first to run to the still bound Boromir.

'Your eyes betray you, friend!' he laughed, tightly embracing Boromir, who just blinked in still shock. 'Happy birthday!'

Boromir finally broke into a smile and laughed as well, a little uncertainly. He turned annoyed eyes to Faramir as Eomer pulled away. 'You knew of this all along.'

Faramir removed the links from his brother's wrists and threw strong arms around the other man's neck. 'I knew, yes, but it was Eomer who conceived it.' he gave Boromir a rough, affectionate shake and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. 'Happy birthday!'

Boromir laughed loudly this time but swatted his brother over the head. A thought hit him, 'We're going to be late returning, Faramir. Father will not be pleased.' 

'The Steward knows, Boromir,' Eomer assured him, winking. 'It was as much his idea as my own.' 

Eomer motioned for them to come into the second courtyard where the party was being held, and they followed. Though it slowed their journey back to Minas Tirith, it was certainly a night to remember over all the travels Boromir had made to Rohan. Being allied to them, and being so close to Mordor, he often took his men, and Faramir's to aid in the constant Orc raids. It was a mutual favor.

The sun was setting in the West, and cool breeze was slowly rising over the walls. The birthday party was full of laughter and music and dancing; Faramir was content to sitting at a table with several young maidens of Rohan and speaking of the previous Orc hunt with a broad smile. 

Off the winding staircase glided Eowyn, daughter of Eomund and Theodwyn, and Eomer's younger sister of four years. She had no interest in the party, for she often spent time with King Theoden – talking and keeping him company – and had no desire to leave the nice indoors of the castle for a lot of young, arrogant soldiers celebrating another young arrogant soldier's birthday, but Eomer had summoned her. Her light grey eyes scanned the crowd and saw her brother seconds later.

His helmet had been removed and his golden hair hung loosely about his broad shoulders. She exhaled softly and absently flipped her long hair behind her back and lifted the ends of her pale gown so she could make her way through the crowd of energetic men. Eomer turned and spotted her. 

'Sister!' he smiled broadly, eyes twinkling with pride as soldier's jaws dropped. He took her hand and kissed her cheek lightly, then stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. 'Surely you remember Captains Boromir and Faramir from Minas Tirith.' 

Faramir stepped forward, having left the table of young ladies quite disappointed and graced her hand with a kiss. 'Lady Eowyn, it is good to see you again.' he smiled and stepped aside, looking out the corner of his eye at Boromir. The elder son of Denethor was studying the young woman with an almost suspicious glint in his eyes.

'Eomer, this cannot be your little sister…' he made a full circle around her and Eowyn felt her blood heat up with anger. It was terribly rude and improper to study a Lady as though she were a piece of merchandise. 

She spun around folded her arms across her chest and met his grey eyes angrily; he just tilted his head. 'I remember her as a thirteen year old girl covered in mud and challenging one of my knights to a duel.'

Eomer frowned at Boromir but could not help but smile. He, too, often remembered his sister only as the girl that adored battle. 'I remind you that four years have passed since that day, Boromir.'

'And I will remind you that Eowyn is the Lady of Rohan and deserves more respect, brother!' Faramir quietly snapped at Boromir in embarrassment for his brother's rudeness. Eowyn gave a curt nod and smiled at Faramir in gratitude. The younger son of Denethor averted his eyes shyly. 

Boromir ignored this and stepped back as though to get a better view. 'You certainly look older. I apologize for failing to recognize you…four years…' he turned his eyes upward in thought, and then met hers again. 

'Then you are seventeen now?'

Eowyn spoke for the first time that night. 'Apology accepted, and yes, I am seventeen.' her voice was clear and sweet, but also angry and defiant. She looked up into the sky, frowned, and turned to her brother. 'The evening grows late, brother. I fear I must depart. Do excuse me.'

She began to stride from the premises but her brother stepped in her path. 'Oh, dearest Eowyn, stay and enjoy the party.' he implored with a smile, hand still clasped in hers. 'It has been weeks since you and I have had time to talk, and years since you have seen any of your old…' he looked over his shoulder, then turned back to her with mocking smile. '…Friends.'

Eowyn did not hesitate to swat her brother's arm. 'Stop it. More than half of them do not remember me, and those that do only see that I am a woman now.' she wrinkled her nose in distaste and folded her arms across her chest. 'Among other things.'

'You hold a love for battle but a disliking toward men.' he murmured, pulling her back to the party. She could not help but laugh at her brother's expression, and took his arm reluctantly. 

'I do not dislike all men,' she smiled at a few of the passing maidens that waved to her and said to her brother under her breath, 'Arrogant soldiers and heirs, however.'

'Give Boromir a chance.' Eomer ordered her, a little sternly. He was only twenty-one years old and had just become of age to fully accept the title 'Third Marshall of Riddermark', yet he still thought himself decades older than his sister. 

This time she turned to look at him fully. 'Pray, brother, a chance at what?' he never answered her. Instead he pulled her to a table of beautifully dressed women and a few of Rohan's Riders and Gondor's knights, all 

laughing and chatting. Eowyn gave them all a quick smile and latched onto her brother's arm and steered him away from the table. Or what she thought to be her brother's arm.

'If you wish to dance, M'Lady, you could have let me know before carting me off.' Boromir's deep voice met her ears and she made an audible yelp and leapt away. After a minute she broke into a forced smile and instinctively reached both hands up to straighten her undamaged wheat hair. 

'I…my apologies, Captain.' she breathed; bowing a little and spinning on her heal to retreat. Despite what Eomer had said, she was now set on leaving.

'Wait, Lady…one moment.' at his words she reluctantly stopped her strides and turned to face him. He stepped up with a slightly hesitant look and stopped only a foot from her. He smiled and looked her in the light grey eyes. 'Would it spoil your evening to dance?'

'It would.' she gave a curt nod and began to retreat again. 'Goodnight.' Her long sleeves sailed like angel wings around her arms as the wind picked up around her, swirling and sending her dress too the side. Boromir's brows went up as the curve of her hip and the outline of the right side of her body was suddenly – very clearly – visible. He straightened his back and, feeling heat rise in him, followed her with new 

exuberance.

'Why is that, Lady?'

Eowyn colored slightly when he was again in front of her, and she took a step back. 'I would thank you to leave me, Boromir,' she whispered harshly, stepping around him. He blinked at her use of his name instead of 

'lord' or 'captain' and blocked her path once more. 'I have no desire to prance around the courtyard with a bullheaded soldier.' her voice was almost a growl, though her eyes portrayed different emotions. 

'Ill-favored words from such a beautiful little girl.' he kept his distance, not wanting to frighten her away. She was shorter than he by a good three or four inches, and he loomed over her. Her eyes hardened now and her porcelain skin tinged pink after he spoke. She frowned.

'A little girl?!'

'You no longer see yourself as a child?' he tried his best to keep his eyes on her face, but being a man he found it exceedingly difficult. _Indeed, you are not_, he thought to himself, as she tore at his question in a high-pitched but dignified protest. He only smiled and continued to study her face as it went through a series of interesting expressions and color changes (while still trying not to let his eyes wander elsewhere). It was clear his stance was getting to her.

' – And should you ever speak to me in such a manner again I shall find a way to force you into respect!' she lifted her chin and glared. 'Even if I have to draw my own sword to do the job. Goodnight.' This time he stepped aside and allowed her passage back to the staircase. She stared for a moment, as though expecting more resistance from him but only received a blank stare right back. Eowyn, seventeen years old and feeling seventy, moved quickly past him and up the stairs.

'Boromir, you would not be my brother if you were actually present at your own birthday party.' Faramir's gentle voice brought him back to reality, but not enough to take his gaze from Eowyn. She moved so delicately it was as though she were floating instead of storming off in anger at his haughtiness. In a flash of a second she whirled around at the top of the steps for one last glance at him, then turned into the castle once again.

Faramir had also caught the last glance, and the look in his brother's eyes. He slapped a firm hand on the other man's back. 'There is something on your mind.'

'Aye, there is.'

'I do not doubt I know what it is, Boromir.' he said, and had to physically pull his brother from the bottom of the staircase, which was no longer as difficult as it used to be. He was twenty-nine years old and had caught up to his brother in height, but not in brute strength. He kept a hand on Boromir's forearm as he steered his brother to one of the tables, making sure it was empty. 

Boromir finally turned his eyes to his brother, the reflection of the other man mirrored in the clear grey. 'Tell me, Faramir…' he began, giving the staircase one last glance. 'Are women as difficult with you as they are with me?'

'What little I remember of mother was her sweet voice.' Faramir began, casting his eyes from his brother's gaze. '…Always telling me to treat all women as if they were Elven princesses. Father did not take a liking to her always telling me myths of the fair folk, but she persisted.'

'Now that I remember.' Boromir laughed, then stopped, looking a little confused. 'But she told me only once – the rest of the time I suppose I was trying to fence.'

'You would sooner marry your sword than any woman,' Faramir stated bluntly, though he repressed laughter. 'Always fighting, fighting, fighting and never a moment to look at the beauty around you.'  Somewhat annoyed with the last comment, Boromir reached across the table and tousled his brother's hair, receiving a still boyish yelp. He smirked and pulled back quickly enough to avoid Faramir's palm, coming up to swat the side of his head. 

'Why do I need a woman to pester me? I have you, do I not?' he joked, and Faramir snorted in irritancy. After a moment of silence, he turned to Faramir and said, though a little more quietly, 'She has grown up, however. If it was not for her eyes and the color of her hair I would never have recognized her.'

'Sometime tells me you take a liking to more than just her eyes and hair.'

Boromir turned in spurious shock. 'Faramir you surprise me!' then he propped his chin on his palm and tried to hide a smirk. Finally, he gave up. 'Am I wrong to notice how she's changed?'

Faramir just rolled his eyes and finally caught his brother off guard, swatting him across the head.

--- --- ---

Eowyn's face was crumpled into a scowl when she finally made it to her chambers. Boromir had awakened an unearthly rage in that stung like an unwanted kiss, and Eowyn despised it. That did not stop her, however, from leaning against the window in her room and looking down into the party. She spotted Boromir almost instantly. She exhaled sharply when she saw him shove Faramir playfully, and then get shoved back. However much older he was than she – 17 years older, it was – he still acted like a –

'Like a spoiled, arrogant prince.' she muttered, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder once more out of habit. Her eyes moved to Faramir, the younger one, and she once again felt the urge to roll her eyes. 

Faramir was a kinder, gentler, even boyish version of his brother, and would probably make a good friend. _That is,_ she added ruefully, _if he lives to see the light of another day_, she thought, watching Boromir dive tackle Faramir, and Eomer pounce the other two. Several more males followed and Eowyn moved from her window to her bed.

She allowed an exasperated sigh escape her lips as she threw herself into the blissful feather bed. Why, she wondered, if she hated the man so much, could she not help the fluttering of butterflies well up in her chest at the thought of him? She turned to the side and crossed her arms over her chest, thinking of how she wanted to slap the smirk from his face.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Eowyn sat straight up in a panic, moved quickly and quietly to her window to close it (no need for anyone to see she had taken an interest in the party) and then sat back on her bed. She cleared her throat and told whomever it was to enter.


	2. 3012

**Chapter Two**

Boromir, son of Denethor II, Steward to the High King of Gondor and arguably one of the most important figures in both Gondor and Rohan, woke up and could not have told a passer by what month he was in. 

Luckily he was in the private guest suite, alone, and nobody was allowed to just walk in and see Denethor's heir strewn about in just his breeches with his face pressed against the mattress at the end of the bed. 

First his eyes opened, and then his leg twitched.

Perhaps a minute later his head jerked up and he rolled over onto his back and focused his now open eyes onto the ceiling; then groaned. At that exact moment, his younger brother burst through the doors and, seeing his brother's condition, quickly closed them after he entered. 

'Boromir, ye gods!' he exclaimed, and was instantly at his brother's side. 'You look like death itself…how much ale did you down last night?' 

'Where are we?' Boromir asked instead of answering, and Faramir pursed his lips and slapped a warm hand on his brother's bare shoulder. 

'Rohan…Theoden's home…' he tried to gently bring the memories back into his brother's bleary mind, and Boromir nodded groggily, then settled back into the feather stuffed mattress and closed his eyes once more. 

Faramir shook him again. 'Brother, you'll miss breakfast.'

'I would not care if I missed the return of the King, brother,' he tried to move away from the younger man's hands. 'I want to sleep..'

Faramir slid his strong arms around his brother's chest from behind and heaved him out of the blankets; he earned a yelp and several idol threats from the soldier and grinned despite the effort he was putting into reviving his brother. Eventually he accomplished the task of getting Boromir to balance long enough to stand, and handed him a fresh pare of strong, brown leather pants and a simple red shirt with black stitches and long sleeves. Boromir groggily began to dress.

'And hurry, Boromir, because at midday Eomer and Theodred have requested that we go hunting with them.'

'The men?'

'They have left for Gondor.'

Boromir arched one of his brows and regarded his brother lazily with his eyes; they appeared green now in the early morning light. 'Without their captains?'

'We are on leave, you could say.' Faramir replied without looking at him, his own eyes looking over the green fields and plains of Rohan in all it's morning brilliance. Faramir enjoyed their visits to Rohan so much more than Boromir did, and for all the opposite reasons: the sky, the smell of the grass, the people – Boromir liked hunting the game that roamed it's plains and especially having Eomer and the younger soldiers look up to him. 'We are to return in a fortnight. Departing in two nights on the third morning should give us a fair start.' Then he turned to his brother and smirked. 'Assuming of course, that you can heave your hide out of bed yourself.'

Boromir pulled his shirt over his head and tucked it neatly into the pants, then winked at his little brother. 'I will do it just for you, my dear Faramir.' His reply was dripping his sarcasm, and it made Faramir laugh. He ran his hands absently through his hair and followed Faramir out of his room, nodding politely to the maidens that scurried in after to make his bed and do the daily cleaning.

The smell of sizzling bacon and cooked potatoes filled the air, and Boromir's mouth watered. Faramir led him to a table where Eomer and a few other Riders sat, laughing and speaking of the night before. The heir of 

Rohan's cousin lit up as though first noticing them and grinned widely.

The table was lined with four other Riders: Heath, the eldest Rider; a tall man with grey hair and a short grey beard. Selmit, Henglo and Rontyr sat on Eomer's left.

'There he is – the man of the hour.' the other Riders laughed and Boromir swept a mocking bow before taking a seat. 'We were beginning to think you had been slain by the arrows of an Orc, you were gone so long.'

'An Orc?' Boromir repeated quizzically. 'The effects of the ale must not have left you yet, Eomer. You speak nonsense.'

'Not necessarily, brother, your room is facing in the same direction of the Dark Land.' Faramir put his goblet to his lips and sipped, then continued, 'And the wide viewing window makes it easy for anything to see you, the tempting target.'

'Aye, tempting indeed.' Eomer agreed, and laughed at the same time as moving his braid behind his shoulder. The smallest hints of facial hair and began to appear on his chin and above his upper lip. 'Any Orc that slew the heir to the Stewards of Gondor would collect a nice prize.'

'And what is that?' Heath, the older Rider inquired.

'A sword in the gullet.' Boromir responded, and smirked at Eomer. The younger man grinned at him and excitement sparked in his eyes – plans of the hunt clearly reflected in them. Boromir shook his head – in so many ways, Eomer was a boy in a man's body. 

Faramir laughed loudly at his brother's last comment. 'A sword in the gullet?! Ha! You would be lucky to get a glimpse of what had hit you, Boromir. You sleep like the dead!' To the Riders at the table, Denethor's youngest said, 'This morning I found him sprawled like a corpse, and breathing just as quietly as one. I'm telling you, lads, he would never know what hit him.'

Somewhere between the wild laughter and the striking of the hour, one of the kitchen servants wandered over and bowed respectfully. 'Lords Boromir and Faramir, your breakfast.' They were brought several large biscuits and eggs, which they finished in less time than it took to set it on the table. 

Theodred strode in clad in his full hunting attire and still armed when he reached the table. He received nods and a few mummers in greeting, but focused purely on his cousin and his two guests. 

'Good morning, Boromir, Faramir.' he nodded to Eomer. 'Cousin. Are you all well rested?'

'Aye, prince, it was the best sleep I have had since I left for Rohan.' Faramir answered before Boromir had the chance, and topped it off with a charming smile. 'My brother could not agree more.'

'Good, good. I'm eager to start the hunt. Can I expect you all in an hour?'

Eomer looked to his Riders and guests, then back to his cousin. 'Aye, Theodred. An hour. Will we be using your grounds or mine?'

'Mine, of course.' He offered a wide smile and clapped his hands together, and the escorts that flanked him jumped at the loud noise. 'An hour it is. I'll leave you to your conversations, then.' Theodred began to back up before exiting, and waved a hand one last time. 'Remember, an hour!'

'An hour.' Boromir repeated, waiting for the heir of Theoden to turn before turning back to the Riders. 'I do not think I have ever seen him happier.'

'He has always loved hunting.' Eomer replied quietly, leaning forward on the table before getting to his feet to leave. 'If we are to be ready in an hour, we had better start now. See you all at midday.' 

--- --- --- 

Eowyn smoothed her cornflower dress and wrapped her arms about her. It was a chilly morning around Edoras and Eowyn quickly reached up to the peg on her walls and slid into her brown riding habit, ran quick hands through her masses of golden hair to unbraid it, and then smoothed it down her back. 

She had requested that breakfast be brought up to her that morning, so when it was finally prepared she sat down at the small table by her window and began to absently pick at the neatly prepared food in her plate; chewing slowly while gazing out the window. 

A smile came to her lips and she inhaled softly when her brother walked out to the court below her window. She had not seen him, aside from the party, for roughly two months and had missed his company greatly. 

He had made a promise to spend the day with her and take her riding, and if time would allow, spar with her. The love between the brother and sister of Edoras never wavered, but was often tested with time and the gap of their ages.

Eomer was only four years older than she, but ever since her fourteenth year he had been very protective of her. 

One of her pale brows rose when she saw four horses being led out into the inner court. Various servants saddled them up and were taking them for light warm up paces around the near the gate, and three or four minutes later, her brother, Theodred and Denethor's sons wandered out. Six or eight hounds were at their heels. Hunting hounds. 

Eowyn shot from her chair and it made the servant in the back of her room jump. The old woman asked, tentivly,

'Is everything alright, M'Lady?'

Eowyn looked at the woman blankly, then asked, 'Did Prince Theodred organize a hunt today?' she looked back through the window where the four men talked while their horses were checked. Her fist tightened around her fork, and the voice in the back of the room replied,

'Aye, the prince wanted to have a day of leave before Lord Boromir and his brother had to depart Rohan.'

Eowyn made an audible noise that let the room (empty other than herself and the servant) know her anger, and dropped her fork on her plate. Before leaving, she corrected the woman, 'He is not Lord of Gondor _yet_!'

She spun on her heel and sent the skirt of her dress twirling about her legs as she quickly moved out her door, down the wide set of winding stairs, through the mess hall and past the throne room, and into the inner 

courtyard. She wasted no time in speeding up to meet her brother, who seemed to be deep in conversation with Faramir.

The older man was nodding and grunting replies every now and then, but his pale eyes fell on Eowyn's face, and he smiled at her. When Eomer had paused to take a breathing break, Faramir quickly excused his own interruption and said, 'Eomer, we have company.' he smiled at her and gave a faint inclination of his head. 'Lady.'

Eowyn smiled politely back and bowed quickly by bending her waist a fraction of an inch (ladies were expected to curtsy, but Eowyn did not have the patience and was not in the mood to put on her best lady act), then seized her brother's arm and pulled him aside from the other men.

'You promised me this day would be ours, brother.' her tone was calm and even – Eowyn may have been disappointed but had not lost her self-control. 'Will you spend your only full day with me on a hunt?' Eomer's strong arms hung loosely at his sides and he found nothing to do but stammer an apology.

'I am sorry, Eowyn,' he gathered her up in his arms and gave her an affectionate squeeze that made her redden. She did not mind her brother openly showing he cared for her, but not in front of the prince and the lords-to-be of Gondor; but she allowed him to place a gentle kiss on her temple before pulling away. 'Perhaps in the mid-afternoon we can arrange something – even if it is just a walk in the garden..'

'Why does your sister not join us on the hunt?' Both brother and sister turned to meet the eyes of Theodred, who was attaching a quiver to the saddle of his steed. The prince offered again, 'What say you, Eowyn? No need to stay locked in your room all day with only the walls to humor you.'

'Yes, sister, come with us! We could have a horse prepared for you in no time and you could tell me everything that has happened in my absence as we ride.' Eomer exclaimed in fresh energy and excitement, and the boyish twinkle in his eyes returned. Eowyn was forced to smile at the sight of him. 

Boromir gave a hard laugh at Eomer's enthusiastic approach and Faramir put in, 'It has been long since we have had the pleasure of your company, and it will be again once we leave.'

Eowyn exhaled in resignation, but once again put on an appealing smile. 'If you all insist, then I fear I lack the choice in the matter.' 

'Wonderful! Prentide, prepare a horse for the Lady Eowyn. Make haste, the sun is climbing.' Theodred ordered the servant that finished walking Boromir's steed, and peered up into the midday sky. The sun shone down from its highest angle and Eowyn's shoulders became warm in the gentle light. She could do nothing but wait for a horse and join the men in their favorite pastime.

'Do you enjoy hunting, Lady?'

Eowyn had made her way over to her brother's horse and was stroking it's mane affectionately, but looked up at the sound of Boromir's voice. She smiled a little and shrugged her thin shoulders nonchalantly before turning her gaze back to the oak hued horse. 'Only when it rains, Captain.'

'When it rains?'

'Yes, when it rains.' she did not look at him. 'When it rains it is easier for the poor beasts to hide, and give them an advantage over their hunters.' 

'You enjoy a challenge, then?' Theodred inquired with a bit of a smile as a horse was lead to his cousin. 

'I enjoy watching deer escape the weapons of Men.' 

Theodred laughed and gave Eomer a hard nudge in the ribs, but Boromir just gazed at her quizzically.

'I did not expect that from a shield maiden.' he moved closer to her and clasped his arms at the small of his back. Eowyn let her head rest against the horses neck and regarded him quietly through cool grey eyes. 

Then he asked something she should have seen coming, 'Can you still hold a sword?'

Eowyn gave a lazy laugh and blinked slowly as the wind began to pick up. 'Of course I can.'

'I feel wrong challenging a lady, but for you I could make an exception.' he moved both hands to his hip and drew his sword, then handed it to her hilt first. 'That is, if can you manage the weight.' Eowyn reached for it, her bare fingers lightly brushing his before he released the hilt with one hand, but still held it. His brows went up, 'Can you?'

'That is hard to determine with you supporting it, is it not, Boromir?' Boromir's smile widened and he unwrapped his fingers from the leather bound handle, and Eowyn had to use all her strength to hold it steady with one arm, but she managed. With a smile of her own, she said, 'Are you satisfied?'

'Not yet, Lady.' he replied, and Eowyn felt a tinge of irritation spike into her stomach with his words. 'Not yet.'

'Lady Eowyn, if I may say so, it looks as though you have opened up a new side to our Boromir.' Theodred pointed out, resting his hand on the taller man's shoulder. 'He usually shows no interest in women – only in battle and business.'

'You're not the only one of us to notice, prince Theodred.' Faramir laughed, but his tone was not at all amused. He looked his brother straight in the eyes that time, and Boromir gazed straight back. After a minute of laughter from Eomer and Theodred, Faramir spoke once more. 'Ah – I left my…belt…in the stables. Brother, will you help me find it?'

Everyone looked at Faramir with puzzled eyes. Theodred wondered, 'Your belt? Why was your belt even off in the stables?'

Faramir's face reddened at his own foolish excuse, but he pulled his brother roughly fifty feet to the side and inquired, 'What has possessed you, brother?' he whispered so not to be heard. 'I hardly recognize you!' When Boromir was silent, Faramir's face relaxed into a knowing expression. 'It is Lady Eowyn, isn't it?'

'I wish you would stop your assumptions, brother.' Boromir snapped back. 'You know I take no care to women or marriage or foolish dreams of love – why do you pester me so?'

Faramir bowed his head. 'I am sorry, Boromir, I just…' he shrugged, absently looking at Lady Eowyn's horse as it was lead to the prince. 'I do not want you to torment her, or tease her. She is solemn and dignified, and I do not see her as the type to enjoy it –'

'I have tormented no-one, Faramir.' The future Steward replied, and his brother pursed his lips skeptically at him. Boromir drew his brows. 'Well…maybe in the slightest bit, but…if you wish it I will stop if only to satisfy you.'

Faramir smiled, and his light eyes focused on Eowyn. 'Thank you, brother.' With a tilt of his head, he murmured, 'She seems to sad, does she not? As if there is something that is eating at her and she will not tell anyone.'

Boromir did not have the chance to reply before Faramir said, 'And I do not mind if you one day decide to marry. I just do not want heartache for you. You are proud and think only of battle, and most women are wistful and think only of love.'

Boromir slapped his brother's cheek lightly. 'You will worry yourself to death. Come.'

--- --- ---

Into the winding tunnels of a cave only two leagues from Edoras, Lúpeg of Mordor's dark forces, second in command to Gúlwor, silently made his way to where his fell brethren lay dormant and waiting for his word. 

His booted feet shuffled nosily on the dirt ground and his armor clanked against his body, and after some time he made his way to the clearing with the roaring fire in the center, and Gúlwor standing menacingly in front of the troop of Orcs he was trying to keep silent. 

'Gúlwor they have not tracked us. Their armies have been headed to their city for two days and have not detected us.' Lúpeg snapped his head around to look behind him with wide eyes, then licked his lips in anticipation. 'Do we attack when the sun leaves?'

'Quiet you fool, have you a pig's brain?! You may be heard!' Gúlwor spat, and rose a hand in silent threat. Lúpeg avoided any injury from his superior, but Gúlwor was not looking at him anymore. 'When dusk hits the sky we make the charge. Kill as many as possible before your own pathetic lives end so there will be food tonight for those of us that have the strength to take on the enemy! Do you wish to eat or do you wish to starve?!'

An affirmative reply moved through the crowd in a low growl and few of them stomped their feet. Saliva flowed at the mention of food and the implication of ripping a man's meat from his bones, but no other sounds were made. After a moment, Gúlwor began again,

'We shall have a new goal this time: because the Riders are tough and bitter, we are going to try and capture the women and their spawns. Their flesh is tender, so let that be our goal. To breech the mighty gates of Edoras!'

'How could it be that they have not seen us?!' a rough voice roared from the corner of the dank shadows in the cave, and it lacked all confidence. 'If you have lied to us, Gúlwor – '

'The fools are celebrating! Even the scouts have begun to cut slack in their watches, and they suspect nothing!' A gleeful voice, this time, shouted out and an uproar of laughter and more stomping echoed about the domed grey walls of the cave. Gúlwor drew his blade and struck a blow into the side of Lúpeg's unguarded head as an example to the rest of the undisciplined Orcs and only received a roar of pain from his victim. 

Lúpeg, however, silenced himself with the rest of the Orcs.

Gúlwor held his hands and blade up and all eyes focused on him once more. His voice was low but dangerous, cruel and meaningful. 'If their scouts should hear us than surprise will no longer be working with us and we shall lose our necks, fools! We will be found and destroyed like the others, so keep quiet!' To Lúpeg, who was ignoring his new injury, he said, 'Come with me, you.'

The journey to the very edge of the cave was a quick but difficult one, and when it was finally reached the two fell beasts still had to duck away in the shadows to avoid their bane; the sun. Gúlwor seized the shoulder guard of Lúpeg's armor and pulled him up to the same eye level as he, both Orcs looking out to the sunlit world.

'Do you see the tree line?'

'Yes.' 

'It remains barely a league in width and length.' Gúlwor's yellow teeth were clenched as strategies ran through his mind, and finally he jutted a brown arm out to direct the other's view. 'We go into them at dusk and travel to the edge _quietly_,' he stressed the last word before continuing, 'to Edoras. You will take half of this rabble and I will take half; at nightfall we split and attack from both the east and the west.'

'Why do we not just attack as one and take them with our strength?!' Lúpeg dared a harsh tone, but Gúlwor silenced his with a cuff. The Orc held back a howl of pain, and his superior once again turned his gaze back to the outside. 

'You are a gutless pig indeed, fool! That is what killed the first wave several days ago; we must strategize.'

Lúpeg glowered at Gúlwor with contempt, still keeping a fist over the new cut on his face, and began to retreat inside the cave. 'You are a fool that relies too heavily on your mind. The Orc are here to kill!'

'And kill is what we will do, Lúpeg.' the Orc reached back and dug his fingers into the other's flesh, pulling him back at his side. 'Stay here and watch for dusk.'

--- --- ---

From saddle to dismount, Eowyn had been on the hunting trip for nearly four hours and was exhausted to say the least. On her way up the long stairway she reached down to remove her light shoes and carry them the rest of the way up to her chambers. The hunt had not been nearly as boring and dull as she thought it had been, and it had given her a chance to speak with her brother. Eomer had been happy to have time with her, but she could tell that their months apart were only drawing them further and further from eachother. 

She missed her brother, terribly, but even worse she missed their childhood. Things had changed so drastically for Eomer when he reached his fifteenth year, and that was when they began to drift. 

'Lady Eowyn, King Theoden wishes you to dine with him this evening.'

Eowyn gracelessly spun around to meet the dark eyes of her uncle's advisor, Grima Wormtongue. Her skin prickled a bit and she hid her arms behind her back so he could not see her discomfort. Without a word, she gave a polite nod, but his eyes drew speech from her. Eowyn, however, was stronger than she appeared and spoke firmly, 

'Why, pray, did he send you? You are his advisor, not his messenger.' Eowyn stated plainly, and Grima's eyes lingered on her a moment before he replied. His voice was soft and dared Eowyn to look away, but she did not. 

'I am the King's servant in every way, Lady.' Grima bowed humbly and began to back off. 'That includes favors not covered in the description of my duty. Excuse me.' With one last look, one that made Eowyn clench her fists behind her back, he retreated down the stair and she did not move until he was from her sight. 

'Eomer.' She said her brother's name as if to call out to him, but her voice seemed to stay inside her throat and barely made out below a whisper. She forced herself to continue up the stairs. Less than half an hour later she returned in one of her more finespun dresses and quickly glided back down the staircase and recited her apologies for being late in her head. The long table in Theoden's dining hall was not full as it usually 

was. It only seated his son, her brother and the sons of Denethor. Her brother shot to his feet and quickly made his way over. 

'Eowyn you look exhausted!' he exclaimed, gently taking one of her arms and guiding her to the table. She took her seat and smiled at the King, who in return smiled back.

'Did the men bore you so greatly, Eowyn?' He inquired with a good grace, and Eowyn laughed in return. 

'Nay, I enjoyed the sun and the air.' she answered, but made sure to give Boromir a look. 'Though I would have been more comfortable if the captain would not have shot at everything that moved this afternoon.' Denethor's eldest did not return her smile, rather he was looking in the corner at Grima blankly.

Perhaps he was the only one that noticed the look in the other man's eyes. 


	3. 3012

**Chapter Three**

Edoras was silent in the dimming evening, and her guards were lazily watching the skies grow dark while the plains waved like a sea and disguised movment to be a breeze from the far away oceans. Gúlwor had given strict orders to hug the ground and stay beneath the safe haven of the long grass, and they did, only moving to peer at the great gates of the Rohirrim. 

Lúpeg moved quietly up several feet every time the sun sank lower in the sky, and his troops moved with him. When he had moved close enough to Gúlwor he stopped stopped and the captain growled in displeasure at his presence. There were no words exchanged from Orc to Orc,  but the same mind festered in their skulls and anticipation grew dangerously. An hour passed, perhaps, and Gúlwor finally waved his hand.

He gave the signal to attack.

From the eyes of the Rohirrim guards it seemed as if a great swarm of black cloud arose from the horizon, and then a cry of hoarse voices and a clammer of weapons split the peace. They charged, and in less than the time it took for the guards to blow the long horns in warning they had slammed against the walls. 

'Break it down!' Gúlwor shouted. 'Break it down, lads, or starve!'

The horns echoed about the skies and the stone walls and the plains of Rohan, emitting a cry that may as well have been the rays of the sun plowing it's wrath down onto the enemy that tried to breach the gates. When the Men of Rohan were called into battle the Earth trembled. 

However, it was not until minutes later that the call reached the King's dining hall. The discussion and laughter immediately ended, and all heads shot up. It was one of the King's personal hands that made it into the hall first, out of breath and frantic. He fell to the ground slovenly in a quick bow, keeping his head down as he reported in a breathless, loud voice,   
'My King, the gates are in danger of being breached, and Orcs climb our walls!'

'What are they, where have they come from?' Theoden demanded as he shoved his chair back and shot to his feet, glancing to Grima as if the advisor had the answers. He stared back blankly.

'Surviving rabble of the past day's raid, perhaps.' Grima said softly, and bowed gently from his position in the shadows, clinging like a snake to the darkness. Theoden moved from the long table and took his son roughly by the arm, escorting him away and speaking quickly to him in a hushed tone. Eomer and his sister with both sons of Denethor and a few Riders remained at the table, and Eomer shouted to them to move. He prepared to make a mad dash for his armor and weaponry that awaited him in his chambers, but his sister's cold, thin hands seized his tunic and halted his steps.

'No! Eomer, let me go with you!'

'You are mad, sister, now stay back.' Eomer said breathlessly, looking to one of the wardens in silent order and then nodded at his sister. 'Take her!'

'Eomer, let me defend my people!' her voice quivered, face flushed with emotion. Her eyes, blue like unpolished stones, were wet with tears of frusteration. The warden gently took her by the elbows and guided her from her brother, but she tore away defiantly and raised her voice, 'Brother, do not keep me in this cage! I wish to protect – '

'You are a woman, you would slow me in battle!' Eomer replied, his own face was frantic -- too frantic to even focus on her with a direct stare. He reached out with long arms, corded in muscle, and pulled her close to him. 'I would worry over you, and if you were lost I would never forgive myself. ' He kissed her brow. 'Sister, stay where you belong. Boromir, Faramir, come! Let us draw our swords!' 

'What a pretty web we have embroiled ourselves in this time,' Boromir said bitterly as he swept past Eowyn boldly, his presence brooding as a large fiesty stallion ready to gallope into battle. They had left their swords just outside the dining hall, thinking it improper to have it at dinner, and received them from a few shaking guards on the way out. The three men were handed chain mail and quickly snapped into their armor with little help from the servants. 

The bellowing horns suddenly turned into mere bleats of desperation, and a great sound like cracking thunder shook the hall. Shouting over took the hall, and Riders on evening leave were filtering out to leave the safe haven and catch the battle. The outside gates were being breached, and noble women and older man cried out in fear. Eomer nodded to the sons of Denethor and waved for them to follow, and they vigorously complied.

'You and I will lead the Riders to the gates, where breach must be.' he spoke quickly as he strided over to the large staircase that headed down into the first floor and through the hall, out into the stable field. As he walked his fitted his gloves over his hard mailed forarms. 'I would imagine Theoden has his archers lined at the walls, but the walls are made of stone. It is our gate that is vulnerable.'

'Aye.' Faramir said, taking a moment to glance to his brother before striding after Eomer to the stable that held his mouth, once they had made it to the field. He did not wait for the door to be opened or the horse to be saddled. He threw the gear on himself, quickly, and then heaved into the saddle. He crossed an arm over his chest and nodded at his two comrades firmly. 'Fight with caution.' he said, knowing the that, though years apart, his brother and the young marshal of the Riddermark were of the same mind. _Quite_ often. 

'And you as well.' Boromir said dispassionately, knowing his brother did not need his words. Faramir was near unbeatable in battle, and could easily master a few Orc being the only survivors of a starving disbanded army. The Captain-general of Gondor's forces looked to his young friend with a feral smile. 'Shall we ride?'

Eomer returned the smile and drew his sword, taking the charge and calling about him in a deep voice fit for a soldier, 'Riders! To me!'

--- --- ---

Eowyn managed to push away from the wardens and shoot across the marble floors of the dining halls to where King Theoden stood, watching his son ride off into battle with streams of warriors following his stead. The White Lady came to his side, checking her pace and wrapping her gentle hands about the crook of his elbow.

'Are you ill, My lord?'

'Nay, dear Eowyn.' Theoden's voice was thin and frail, and his white hair picked up softly in the breeze as he remained where his son had left him. 'I am not ill, and should be riding into battle with my men. I am a King, not a frail thing to be kept away.' Eowyn tucked her chin at his words, resenting them and also resenting herself for not having been born a man. She was not expected to protect her home, yet others were expected to fall in her place. She did not understand.

'You are not.' she replied softly, and his grey eyes softened as he saw her face fall. 

'Forgive my words, dearest, I spoke before thinking.' he turned and lead her away as the halls doors closed, back to the long table. 'I have known of your feelings since you were a child, but you must not hold it against your brother and the other men. They only care for you, and wish to protect you.'

Eowyn's throat ached in a hollow pain, bringing tears that stung hotly in her eyes. 'I do not wish to be protected.'

'And children will swim in flames, if not taught better,' Theoden turned to her and clasped her hands in his, voice kind. His heart heard her heart, and she knew this. 'You will not always love what is good for you, sister-daughter, but you must remember that it _is_ for you. Your brother loves you very much.'

'And I love him!' she said desperately, squeezing his soft knarled hands affectionatley. 'I worry for him as well, uncle, more than he will ever know! Yet I cannot protect him as he does me.'

'Do not worry for the marshal of the Riddermark,' Grima's voice stung the White Lady as it wrapped about her from the shadows, and she shivered a bit, coming to stand closer to Theoden. She felt safer around her brother when Grima was around, for he had the ear of the King – and kept his position well. ''Tis a mere raid. It will be over before the hour has finished, m'Lady.' he bowed upon adressing King Theoden, humbly and delicately as silk from a spider's web. 'Sire.'

'My advisor speaks truth.' Theoden kissed Eowyn's temple with dry lips. 'Eomer is a good soldier, and the sons of Denethor are once again by his side. They will return to us before the hour is up.'

'May I suggest the sweet Lady get some rest?' Grima's gaze raked down Eowyn's body, clad in a simple white gown with grey shawls, and he spoke once more, 'She has had a weary day and deserves much of it.'

'Rest? How can I rest when flesh-eating Orcs threaten our people?! Have you no thoughts for the dying soldiers outside?!' she demanded coarsely, stepping forward to remind the man that she was still a noble and that her thoughts of his suggestions and opinions weighed much less than Theoden's. He shrank back at her tone. 'I will not sleep! I will wait at my balcony and hope for my brother and cousin's victory and safe return. Goodnight, King.' she spun on her heel and was immediately followed by several maidens, who were panicking to keep up. 

'Do not follow me.' she snapped. 'I desire privacy.' Eowyn  wasted no time making it up to her room, alone. She knew the servants and maids believed her to have every intention of sitting in a corner of the wide suite and having a good cry so she did not worry for interuption. 

Eowyn was unsure of what she had planned, wanting desperately to go and fight with her cousin's men but also knew what it would do to her brother and her uncle if she were to be lost. She paced with anxiety before the wide exit to her balcony, her fingers in her pale hair and her arms shaking like the cold. 

Finally, still unsure what to do, she moved out to her balcony and squinted in the darkness to the far off gates of Edoras; watching little flares of light go up every now and then. The distant cries of men and the clammering of steel on steel forced her to close her eyes and bow her head. Whenever battle came upon her people she could not help but think of the number of lives that had fallen because she was still alive. Idle and weak, hiding behind the sword of her brother. 

The cool air did not seem to pay heed to the battle it swept around, and it traveled up to Eowyn's balcony, sending a chill down her spine and made the hair on the back of her neck prickle up. She looked back out to the scene, noting that more torches had been lit and the red flags had been draped about the inner gates – signalling the closing of them. When the inner gates were sealed it protected the people inside but did not allow soldiers to reenter, and it only filled Eowyn with more dread. 

She gave a curt nod as if to tell herself that her mind was made up, and briskly fisted her riding habit and threw it about her shoulders. Eowyn then knelt by her bed and removed a long silver dagger in a leather sheath from between the matresses, pulling of the tresses of her dress and strapping it about her calf – just incase she would need to defend herself. She knew she would never be allowed on the field of battle, but the Lady of Rohan at least wanted to go to the inner gates and see them opened; and then help the wounded that entered.

The doors were pushed open and she made her way down the stairs quickly, sure to avoid the large throne room on the other side of Theoden's house and making straight for the wide doors. She cursed under her breath upon seeing the guards posted there. They were not much of a threat to her, considering the fact that most soldiers that could pick up a sword had gone to defend the city, yet these still stood firmly and caught her with stares as she reached the doors. 

'Let me pass,' she said breathlessly, briefly glancing behind her shoulder. The guards shifted uncomfortably, knowing her authority, but also not wanting to put a woman in danger. Eowyn turned back to them and waited a few seconds, then repeated urgently in a higher tone, 'Let me pass!'

'We cannot, Lady Eowyn. The inner gates have been sealed but there is still risk of anyone outside their homes –'

'That does not matter, I must aid the wounded with the others.' she replied impatiently, muscles tense and ready to leap forward as soon as the doors were to open. Still, the guards would not withdraw. Instead they stood firmer and straighter to the ground, silent. Tears of frusteration came to her eyes. 'You will not yield?'

'Nay, Lady, we cannot yield.' one answered, and she heard plain sympathy in his voice. 'It is for your safety.'

'My safety?!' she half-snarled, and it earned her a slight jump from both of them. The expression in her eyes and the anger that flared her cheeks with pink even made them move a bit closer to the door, and Eowyn advanced, 'Does the sun stop shining if a flower is crushed?! My safety is irrelevant. Protect your King and the children and women, and do not favor me because of my blood! I wish to aid my protectors as they are aiding me, now let me pass! Or do you wish to further challenge the authority of the White Lady of Rohan!?'

The taller guard slowly turned, defeated at last, and pulled on the large chains to open the wide, heavy doors; not all the way, just enough for the young woman to slip through. Before she did he momentarily forgot his place and caught her by the bicep. She froze and met his eyes intensly to stare him down, and saw him visibly shrink back, but he said as a last effort,

'I implore you this one last time to turn back to your suite, Lady of Rohan.' his voice was now a whisper. 'To lose you would break every heart in our land. You are our gem, you give us all hope.'

'To know I did not aid my soldiers would only break my heart.' she replied, giving him one last glance that ordered him to release her, and he did. Eowyn slipped passed the musky smelling wood and waited for it to close behind her, and heard the click and scrape of the chains returning to formation. Raw excitement rose in her chest and she readily flew to the stables on lightly booted feet, making sure her hood was over her golden head and hid her face in it's shadow. 

--- --- --- 

The hooves of Boromir's steed pounded away at the soft earth as he and his two companions watched from meters away from the wall what was taking place. Orcs, like large agile spiders with swords, were climbling up and over the wall, some getting shot and some actually attacking the archers. The gates were also being tested with the weight of several large bound trees that the stronger creatures had lifted as one, and while a battle had not quite begun on the ground yet, the soldiers waited in the gates for penetration. 

The torches had been lit around the city but darkness still lurked and brought a gift of shadow to the enemy, and as Boromir still took all of this in some of the creatures made it to the very top of the wall and began to descend onto the inner fields. At his side Eomer threw a quick look over his shoulder at the sound of deep throated horns blowing, a signal to the city that the inner gates had been sealed off and closed, and relief washed over him. The Orcs, even if some passed the men in the gates, would not pass the inner gates. Or at least he hoped, with all of his heart, that they would not. 

'This is no surviving rabble,' Boromir snarled over the pounding of the doors and the cries of men and Orcs to Eomer and his brother, who's faces appeared drawn but eager in the half light. He tightened his grip on the reins of his animal and forced down his own excitement. 'This is a full attack…there are more of them than I anticipated.'

'Aye, and we are foolish to group our men here.' Eomer put in, and his horse whistled shrilly alarm as several arrows whizzed by. The marshal cursed and scanned the high walls with keen eyes, snorting in disguist at what was now happening, 'They have brought archers as well.'

'I would advise withdrawing your archers from the outer gates!' Faramir pressed from Boromir's right over to Eomer, who immediately drew his attention to the older man. 'They require more distance – ' Faramir's horse flew to it's hinds as a great eruption at the gates wracked the walls and sent the stone and wood groaning in it's limits. A cry of surprise went through the men waiting by the gates, and as one unit they all drew back several meters. All three men regarded eachother in silent awe. 

'What the devil – ?!' Eomer spouted, discarding his helm to get a better view of what just happened, and beside Boromir Faramir steadied his horse. 'What was that?!'

'They ignited something that nearly brough the gates down.' Boromir breathed, nearly inaudible, and Eomer demanded hotly of the Captain, 

'How?! What?!'

'I do not _know_, Eomer, but the gates are to give way any second now!' he snarled, drawing his sword from his sheath and ginning broadly at the satisfying scrape of his weapon leaving it's safe haven of leather. The light of the flames left over from the explosion danced in the green of his eager eyes, and he watched the scene. The men were silent, but the Orcs still roared on. A single cry echoed from near the first line of men, and the marshal and captains saw it to be Theodred. 

The heir of Theoden's horse reared, and he rose his sword to the darkened sky, crying out, 'Open the gates! Let them come!' Confusion rippled through the soldiers of Rohan but the command was obeyed, and Eomer had to jerk on the reins of his animal to steady it's head,

'Has he cracked?! They will charge into us – '

'Theodred knows the gates will not last forever, and to lose them completely would mean worse for us later in this game!' Boromir explained to the young soldier, unable to restrain feelings of sympathy toward him despite the setting. He knew what it was like to have a first large command, and to be completely green with little experience. 'It is better to face them now.'

Eomer was silent but nodded, and Boromir gave him one last glance of pure admiration – he thought very highly of the young man, whom he had watched grow in courage, temper and heart, and to see him now in yet another moment of accepting his duty like a soldier gave Boromir a stab of hope. 

'Brace yourselves,' he said to his brothers. 'As I said, these are no rabble. They will hit hard.' The gates finally drew to either sides of the wall and the battering ram was dropped, weapons assumed their positions in the hands of their warriors, and the Orcs spilled into the swarm of Rohan soldiers. It only took seconds for the three men to be separated, each forced to take different roads into the midst of the fray. 

Eomer rode swiftly past Orc and Man, occasionlly forced to slay a fell creature that would attempt to pull his horse over on it's side. When close enough to the wall he craned his neck back to try and see the archers that battled ferociously on the high wall, squinting against the brightness of the torches. 

'Archers!' he cried above the roar of the battle, but his call went unheeded, and he cantered in a semi circle a moment, trying to back up to see if he could get a better view. One of the torches was suddenly knocked off of it's post and it fell down only inches from his horses side. The fire hungrily grasped the long dry grasses of Rohan and flared up, flames licking at his horse and at the bottom of his boots. He snarled at this new set back and forced his horse to settle down, siding away from the flames.

Once again he called hoarsly to the men that battled high on the wall, only somewhat aware of the Orc arrows that rained down around him and set his animal into it's panic again. 'Archers!' One of the archers that had just finished a brawl with one of the Orcs peered down at him with narrowed eyes, then saw it to be Eomer, calling back,

'What news, my Lord?!'

'Draw the men back!' he shouted. 'Post them further from this site! Draw back!'

The man nodded and bent his bow. 'Yes my lord!' Eomer distantly heard him ordering the other archers to draw back, and he was satisfied enough with that to focus his attention on the chaos around him. The fire was growing closer and closer, and his horse continued to nicker and whine in fear. He tightened his grip on the reins and dug his heels into the sides of the animal, giving a wordless cry and leaping into the battle with his sword drawn and his pale hair wild in the wind. 

Across the enterance field that held the gates, Boromir had closed his eyes for a fraction of a second to blot out the smoke that stung his eyes and choked him, and the well-aimed arrow of one of the Orcs that had taken the high wall made solid contact with the muscle of his horses' shoulder. It shrieked in pain and reared, buckling under it's own weight and his upon coming back down on his forelegs and fell to his knees, forcing Boromir to sway to the side. 

The animal landed heavily on it's side and brought Boromir down with it, still quivering and kicking in the blaring agony of the arrow being driven and twisted in further. Boromir struggled to free his leg from the heavy horse's side, and the saddle dug into his flesh. He clenched his teeth and gripped the saddle with one gloved hand, his other attempting to push the ribcage upward. His head whipped around, alert, to see anymore attackers coming. None as of yet. 

The horse struggled as well, trying to get off of him as well as trying to lift itself off of the arrow. Everytime it jerked crimson gore splattered Boromir's pale face and clothing, but he paid it no mind, only set his jaw and pushed harder. The horse finally rolled up off of him, and he pulled his leg out quickly. It was neither broken nor sprained, but there would be a black bruise the next morning. 

The Captain next came to fist a handful of the creature's main, dragging it's neck to the side so he could wrap gloved fingers about the shaft of the arrow. He pulled it out, hoping to save the animal's life. It was only a shoulder wound, and the horse was strong. Minutes later it found it's feet, and he quickly lead it to a dark spot against the wall.

Glancing over his shoulder once more, he tried to see if anything was watching him, or planning to spontaneously attack him, then he stroked the animal's forhead in comfort and whispered a few kind words to it. The horse quieted, and then stood still in the shadow, content to wait the battle out. 

Boromir, however, readied his sword and charged headfirst into the confusion and bloodshed. 


	4. 3012

**Chapter Four**

For a moment Theodred regretted opening the gates when the enemy poured in like water in a sinking ship, sweeping his horse back in a panic and frenzy of bracing and retreating. The Orc were running over men on the ground, and even attempting to seize the horses of the Riders. Theodred, at first, felt no worry for the fate of his men, for he knew their spirit and their stamina was more than fuel in the heat of a battle; but the explosion at the gates had made him wary. 

A creature was reaching up to the nose of his rearing horse with grabbing, clawing goblin hands in an attempt to seize the bridle, and Theodred cried out and thrust a booted foot into the side of it's dead, drawing a large spurt of blood from the mutilated ear. The Orc stumbled to the ground and was lost in the mob of further on comers, all climbing and screaming and crawling on top of one another savagely, salivating and eyeing his horse hungrily. 

The heir of the Mark surged his mount forward so it's powerful legs came down onto several of the creatures, stomping and stepping as if it had come across a pile of snakes. Most of the kicks made contact and sent the creatures reeling back with horrid cuts and gashes. The horse whistled shrilly when any Orc would come too close for it's own defense and Theodred would have to strain his body to stretch over to the front of the horse and slay the beasts before their teeth or claws sliced his friend's throat. 

Theodred rooted his knees into the sides of his mount and yanked back on the reins, turning the horse away from the onslaught and moving raggedly backward to the inclined base of the slope of Edoras.

What he saw cut through him like a whip on cold skin, and he only had a moment to consider the consequences. Some of the soldiers were trying to close the gates behind the Orcs, trying to trap them like animals and slay them so they would never again roam the plains of Rohan. It was a noble effort, but Theodred knew the result of cornering beasts. 

'Do not close the gates!' he shouted over the roar, and went unheard by all but one of the Riders that had fallen back with him when the wave entered. Theodred reached over and seized his shoulder guard roughly, pulling the man close enough to be heard, 'Who gave the order to close the gates?!'

'Heath, sir!'

The prince hesitated, light eyes going back to the lit torches that topped the gates and then snapped his gaze to the rider. 'Open the gates, keep them open, and _give them a way out_!' he chucked the reins of the horse after shouting to the rider, 'Go on with caution, man, and give the word!'

'Aye, my lord!'

Theodred's attention was torn to the direction of the gate where a cluster of Orcs were gathered so tightly that one would have thought they were feasting on one another, and since they were not attacking anyone as of yet they had gone unnoticed. He cried out to his horse and pulled the reins to the right, but the animal balked, and stammered. Theodred urged it forward again, but the horse refused to move to the mass of Orcs, and when a horse did not obey its master, Theodred knew, it was for a good reason. 

'Riders!' he shouted, bringing his bloodied sword into the air and dragging the attention of several soldiers nearby to him. He made eye contact with Celgin, a young rider, and Rynt, a middle aged man with thick streaks of grey in his pale hair beneath his helm. 'Gather a party of four,' he said to them as he trotted closer enough not to shout. 'The enemy near the gates is devising something, we must break it up.' 

There was a howl of an Orc throat, and when steel met steel a rain of sparks came down around the cluster of Orcs and they all immediately began to scatter. Theodred and the two riders prepared to ride out and meet them but instead were hurled back several feet by another crash of light and fire. Theodred's horse was one of the only animals to keep its feet, and he took a moment to regain his bearings. The explosion, again…but how? Only a black spot and a few unfortunate Orcs lay where the cluster had been. His stomach dropped, and hollow fear overcame him.

The prince clutched the handle of his sword and with his free hand pulled his helm off, then pitched it to the ground with frustrated fury; emitting a strangled cry. How would they fight the mongrels if they did not know what they were up against?! 

'Theodred!' 

The prince turned reddened eyes to the man at his horse's side, and his snarl let up when he saw whom it was. Relief washed over him. 'Boromir, man, where is your horse?!' 

'Shot, prince, when the Orcs took the high wall,' Boromir's face was masked in blood; whether or not it was his own, Theodred did not know. The man of Gondor had not carted his large shield out to battle, but proudly gripped his blade in his still-gloved hands. 'I thought they only had enough of that weapon to use it once,' he growled lowly, looking to the mangled gates. 'But it is not so. I fear they still have more yet.'

'Ready your sword, friend, we must talk of this later,' Theodred told him, eyeing four or five rather large Orcs that headed for their party; they seemed to be slicing everything in sight on their way. 'Meet me over by the base of the slope, we will try to plan this attack together and think clearly. And for all that is good, go find a horse!' 

Boromir nodded and slapped his friend hard on the leg in rough affection, moving out into the onslaught. Surviving rabble, indeed. So far Boromir had seen several lines of men break against the assaulters; he wondered if the fabled Uruk-hai were among them. The captain of Gondor took the time to meet another of the smaller Orcs and seize it by the miniscule strands of hair that sprang from it's head, then slit it's throat clear across.

There were horses everywhere, running about without masters, and Boromir quickly reached out to snatch the bridle of a panicked appaloosa, nearly breaking his fingers trying to snare it. The animal whistled and struggled, but Boromir managed to grab the long rein and use his other hand to calm it. The horse quivered and stamped, then stilled, ready to be mounted. Boromir heaved himself onto the horse and yanked on the reins, driving it to follow Theodred. 

The sky was dark and thundered with fury of the disturbance, and lightening snapped and snarled in the clouds above that blotted out the stars and the half-moon. Boromir looked up for only a moment, and hard drops of rain crashed and broke upon his upturned face. He shook his head and scanned the field for Theodred, cursing himself for losing the prince in only a moment and a half. Then Boromir spotted him among the rocks that sprang from the earth at the slope's base, and he yanked the reins once more. 

Theodred had been shouting at two of the Riders that had followed him, and when he saw Boromir approach and dismount happiness flooded throughout him, and he grinned widely through the rain. 'Good, good, you're here! We've found something disturbing.'

Boromir allowed one of the Riders to take his horse, and he swiped the heavy drops of rain from his face, narrowing his eyes at the prince. He came to a crouch beside Theodred where a map had been laid out and was getting hammered by the water from the sky. 'What is it?' 

The heat from Boromir and Theodred's bodies caused subtle steam to rise about them, and the fever of the battle rose as well. The rain-washed away the sweat and blood on their skin. 

'Celgin gave me word from our archers as they departed the high wall.' Theodred's gloved finger traced the dark line of the inner gates and tapped the main entrance. 'They have breached the eastern wall as well, and are coming around from there to reach the southern entrance of the inner gates.' 

'Is there anymore of the breaching weapon?' Boromir asked, droplets of water clinging to his lashes as moved his eyes along the map. 'Do we know if they have yet used it all?'

'Nay,' Theodred breathed. 'But Boromir, they have used strategy here…' 

'Aye, it is queer. You say they breached the eastern outer wall?' Boromir did not wait for Theodred's nod, and he studied the map grimly. The Orcs had no intention of fully making for the southern entrance; in the pit of his stomach Boromir knew this. He gripped Theodred's soaked shoulder with his free hand and gave the eastern wall a hard tap with his forefinger. 'Look here. They have set the bulk of their forces, the brainless rabble, to the front entrance to make for the southern gates, while the forces we overlooked breach the eastern wall.'

Theodred's eyes moved quickly from side to side as he watched Boromir play the battle out on the map before them. 'They wish to draw our attention from the eastern wall. They have succeeded up to this point, I think.' he whispered; Boromir needed not speak anymore, for Theodred saw it all. He looked up to the dimming lights of eastern wall and shook the rain from his mane of pale hair. 'So they have discovered the weak point of the eastern wall, think you?'

'I do, though it gives me no pleasure to say.' Boromir pursed his lips grimly, and moved his gaze up to the dark clouds massing in the otherwise midnight sky, squinting in the merciless rain. 'The walls are made of rock and thatched wood, are they not?'

'Aye, tightly thatched wood and lots of rock,' Theodred replied, and he stood to gaze through the curtain of grey raindrops and roaring chaos. 'They are good walls, and hold to the last, but the weapon they had devised is too much for even them. They would need the slightest bit to breach the inner eastern wall.'

'What makes it so weak!?' Boromir demanded, coming to stand with the map still in his leather gloved hands next to Theodred. The young prince pointed behind them to the neck of the slopes of the hill, and Boromir followed his direction through rocks and shadows. 

'It is directly on the edge…the earth there is soft this time of year, and a child could easily dig under and slip through.' his face became taut and his lips quivered in anger. 'But I do not think they would enter so subtly, these vile creatures. It is too small and would take too long.'

'No.' Boromir replied gravely, rolling the map up and handing it to Theodred; once again sliding his weapon from its sheath and letting the lightening reflect in its mirror clear blade. The prince filled with dread as the Steward's son spoke the truth. 'They will find a way in. They will go for your women and your children, and then descend like vultures on carrion to the Golden Hall. For the King.'

--- --- ---

By the time Eowyn had reached the southern gate it had began to rain hideously, and she had thrown her hood back but kept her cloak about her thin form to fend off the cold. Her golden hair was wet and plastered to her head and her face, and she breathed out wisps of steam in the cold air. Women and children were fleeing from their homes that were close to the walls, and mothers were pulling their children along hurriedly, some slipping in the slick rain-covered grass.

Guards remained at the gates, maybe ten young men, and were staring at them in confused horror. They knew not what to do at this time, knew not whether to open the gates and allow the panicked, wounded citizens and soldiers come in for refuge or keep them closed and keep the city safe. Eowyn pushed past the retreating people and wrapped her cloak around her cornflower dress, thin material providing not nearly enough warmth for her; she finally made it to the gates, and when the guards saw her they blanched.

'Lady, back with the others!' 

Anger flared up in her chest and she clenched her teeth in a near snarl, gesturing to the shaking gates and the voices crying out in pain behind them. 'What are you doing?! Let them in, you fools, for mercy's sake!' she pushed past the guards to make for the gates herself, but they seized her around her waist and pulled her back. Eowyn cried out sharply, and as if she burned them they released her. 'Do not touch me, or hide me away as if I were a child!' 

'Please, it is not safe – '

'These people will die!' she roared, forgetting her cloak and sending it to the ground around her ankles. Her already wet dress became even more drenched and clung to her limply, and her amber eyes sparkled in searing anger. 'As the highest authority figure behind these gates, save the King himself, I demand that you let them in!'

'How?!' the guard closest to her demanded boldly, his proud green and gold cloak whipping behind him with the sweeping wind and rain and his face distorted with ire. 'How do you suggest we open those gates and let these people in without letting the entire attacking army in and endangering everyone?!'

'It can be done, do not speak to me as if I know nothing of battle!' Eowyn snarled back, but the young man did not yield, instead he attacked her darkly and fiercely.

'You are a girl! A king's little girl that knows nothing of this, nothing of what will happen,' he shouted, pointing the glistening gates through the curtain of rainfall with a crooked finger and daring to stand closer to Eowyn, 'If we open those gates and unleash the fury of the Orcs into our safe haven!'

'Ganha, stop it!' the soldier nearest the gate snatched his comrade by the shoulder and pulled him away from the Lady of Rohan. 'Do not speak to her that way, she is your superior by a hundred generations or more and is a lady, she does _not_ deserve it!' 

'Enough!' Eowyn cried, and the ten soldiers still by the door looked at her in wonder at the volume of her voice and the courage she held to use her authority. She strode over to where the gates were being hammered, and the guards around it held their bows bent with arrows notched and ready to fire at anything. The guards looked to her for command. 'Do you even know where the enemy is?! Is it true they broke through the outer gates?'

'Aye, that was the nature of the explosion, I am sure you heard it.' Ganha said gravely, coming to her side and pointing to what would have been the battlefield if the tall gates were not obstructing their view. 'They have poured in like water and have thrown everything they have against these gates.'

'But surely our riders have not let them yet touch the gates!' Eowyn replied, and backed up to fully see the top of the wall. Lightening snapped in the clouds, and she looked back to Ganha. 'What is happening out there?!'

'Everything is mingled, lady!'

'You mean that both Orc and man and women and children are hammering those gates?'

'Aye,' Ganha breathed, stepping closer to her and raising his pitch as if thinking she finally saw things from his eyes. 'If we open them then not only will they be trampled to death but we will be skewered on the ends of their spears before we let loose the latch.'

Eowyn stared at his pale face through the rain; so young and even afraid. Ganha was not much older than herself. She set her jaw firmly and called over her shoulder to the guard that earlier had to pull Ganha away from her, her voice clear and sweet in the rampaging of the pouring rain. 'Sword! Give me a sword!' The guard closest to the gate shouted wordlessly and drew his weapon, tossing it to her effortlessly and she caught it with both hands. He handed Eowyn the sheath after. 

Ganha watched the scene play out in disbelief and anger, and through the arches of his helm glared at her. 'Then you will send us all to death?'

'No, I am going to give the dying life,' she growled, and moved away from him to the gates. Eowyn set herself to the side and braced her booted feet against the slick grass, arching her back and poising her weapon to attack with quivering arms. 'Ready your swords and bows. When I give the call, open the gates and let them come in. Slay the Orcs, and save the people. I will go with you, Ortul, and pull the wounded inside. Ganha!'

The young soldier looked over at her, silent and fuming, but obedient. 

'Ganha, you and –' she nodded to the young soldier next to him, who said his name was Runhelm. He looked afraid, and his lanky body shivered. 'You and Runhelm will look out and be prepared to give me a full account of what happens out there. Are we all clear?' A few yeses and nods moved throughout the meager army that remained by the southern gate, and Eowyn felt excitement rise in her chest. 'Good. Wait for my call.'

Eowyn did not immediately give the order, for she herself was slowly being seized by the icy fingers of fear and doubt. It dawned on her as if for the first time that she was but a seventeen-year-old girl in a battle of men fighting the foulest of Middle Earth's creatures, but she knew she could not stand down now. The cries, the desperate voices on the other side of the gates made her ache with pity and a need to help the pleading people on the other side. 

She inhaled deeply and met the eyes of the guards straight across from her. 'Now!' 

The next few moments, if one asked Eowyn to recap it for them, could only be described as a panicked haze. The men heaved on the great chains and the metal groaned against the wood; the heavy doors opened slowly, and cry of joy from both women and children rose into the chilled air. The people, some bloodied, some bruised and some unscathed, pushed their way in cried out their gratitude. Eowyn and Ortul charged out into the field, not far from the gates, but far enough to fend off any attackers. 

Ortul was an archer, and Eowyn held her sword in sticky palms and resolutely curled fingers. When she saw that no Orc neared them yet she dropped to the ground and wrapped both arms around a rider that feebly lay on the ground, a coarse Orc blade broken off in his side. He cried out in pain, but Eowyn shushed him and pulled him with all of her strength to the gates. He was heavy, and even heavier now that he could not manage his own weight. Eowyn pulled him still, up the bit of slope and to the gates. Ortul had pulled three in already. 

Eowyn set the rider gently on the ground and pushed his long hair away from his drawn, pained face, giving him a reassuring smile. 'Calm yourself, think not of the pain. Ortul, take him!' she stood once more, and absently reached down to touch the crimson that stained her pale blue dress. For a moment everything seemed to dull out – the sounds, the sights, and the smells…there was nothing in the entire world but her blood and rain slicked fingers. And Eowyn doubted herself. 

Then a cry erupted from the gates, Ortul, and Eowyn snapped her head to the sound. The world resumed as it should have, and she backed into the gates with her sword ready to fell any beast that came her way. Ortul's great arms came around her waist and pulled her in roughly. 

'My Lady, let us shut the gates for now!' he cried, and Eowyn twisted in his grip and looked at him in wonder, distantly, as if she did not see him. 'My Lady! The gates?!'

Eowyn nodded and yanked away from him. 'Close them, close them!' she cried, sheathing her sword in the belt that hung about her hips. The rain hammered mercilessly at her, and the cries and ringing of metal on metal invaded all of her senses from the outside. The gates were closed once more, and she scanned her achievement. Twenty, perhaps, she had saved from certain death – twelve of them were citizens and the others were all wounded riders. 

Eowyn's heart pounded in her chest and she leaned in exhaustion against the comfortingly solid walls, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to get her wind back. Ganha came to her side, grasping her shoulder with rough, prying fingers.   
'Lady Eowyn! Lady Eowyn, how fare you?!'

'I am well,' she breathed, meeting his intense green eyes and feeling life come back into her body. Her very skin burned with the excitement and ecstasy of battle, and she stood up straight and rigid, gaze flaring and her spirit thriving. 'There were more wounded. Soldiers, I saw them. We must go back.'

'In time, lady, in time.' Ganha's voice was softer now, and even held a bit of respect. He took her by the arm and led her through the people that stood around, some shaking and some crying and sobbing in trauma and fear of what had just happened. 'We will reopen the gates in five minutes and retrieve them.'

'Good.' Eowyn nodded to some of the people that stood – young boys and women. 'Get some of these people to help the wounded.' Ganha nodded and called out to the citizens that crowded around, in a voice deep and rich, relaying Eowyn's orders. The young Lady of Rohan suddenly realized how cold she was, and folded her arms across her chest but the wind made her skin prickle up in reaction to the frigid air. 

--- --- ---

Faramir was relieved to hear that some of the wounded made it into the safe haven of the inner gates, and a great burden lifted from his heart when he saw the few guards run out to save the remaining citizens. He knew not where his brother was, or Eomer, or even the young prince of the Mark, and it made him uneasy. 

He and a line of men still held the bottom slope, curving around it for about thirty feet side by side. The enemy continued to try and push forward, push forward, but the young captain and the warriors of Rohan would not allow it. The enemy would charge through, and the men would react with all the strength of an army. 

'Advance!' he cried, and the men moved further down the slope with him, swinging their blades into the guts of the enemy. 'The closer they are to the gate the closer they are to victory!' His voice was deep and meant to carry words over the roar of battle and the assailment of hammering rain. 

Faramir's boots slid gracefully along the wet lashes of grass and he and the other riders dove head first into the onfall. Black blood sprayed the ground around him as he drove the tip of his sword down to the hilt into first Orc's unguarded chest in the second charge. 

Faramir removed his soiled weapon from the dying body and threw a glance around him: the motive was to keep the line of riders firm and to not let them cross the base of the slope, and so far it seemed effective. The captain was snapped from his thoughts when a cry at his side expelled in fear and surprise, and the next thing he remembered was a searing pain in the left side of his chest and the dull sound of his back cracking against the puddled ground. 

'Captain, beware his axe!' Came the call again, from a rider also too occupied to aid him, and Faramir shook his head hard to regain his bearings. In an act of pure chance and luck; Faramir dug the heels of his hands into the soft dirt, pushed himself back and parted his legs in time to avoid the head of the creature's axe cleaving brutally into his hip; and probably, had it been any closer, his groin. The Orc screamed and yanked the axe head from the mushed soil and grass, swinging it high over his head for another strike.

Faramir's bare hand tore into the soft earth where his blade had fallen, ripping up a handful of dirt and grass and water as he swung it upward into the armor covered middle of the Orc. At first the point scraped against the metal and did not enter, and the Orc faltered in surprise. Faramir clenched his teeth and gave the weapon another forceful shove so that it sang against the coarse metal of the armor and plunged into the creature's soft belly. Blood flowed freely from the new wound that could not be seen beneath the armor and to Faramir. The captain grimaced in disgust and gave a little cry of discomfort as it mixed with the cold rain that soaked into his mail-covered midsection. 

He pulled himself wearily to his feet, clutching his chest tightly with one hand, praying the pressure would stop the unimaginable pain that seared into him as a heated iron blade. No blood had been drawn, just a big black bruise and perhaps a cracked breastbone. He could no longer support his left arm, and was momentarily grateful to have been left with his right arm.  Faramir clenched his teeth and gripped his weapon so hard his hand began to burn with sweat and mud and anticipation. 

When he met his next challenger's flat blade in mid air above their heads, he heard his brother's voice cry out from across the field. Faramir pulled back and drove the blade downward.

--- --- --- 

Ganha and Ortul had taken over the operation of the gates, and no more citizens remained outside where the battle took place, but wounded continued to come in. When the gates were closed again, nearly ten more bodies had been dragged into the momentary safety of the inner gates.  Eowyn's throat tightened at the sight of the blood that gushed and pooled with the water around them, and the muddied faces of the soldiers were all so young. They were boys; inexperienced victims of war.

A middle-aged woman had followed Eowyn out to the gates to aid her, and the two of them descended on the wounded with the guards. Eowyn came to her knees beside a young rider, not much older than her brother, Eomer, that had been deeply sliced from the midpoint of his chest all the way down to the start of his hip. The penetration could not even be seen in all of the bubbling, flowing redness that consumed his entire middle.

Eowyn gripped the woman's arm and met her eyes for connection, intently. 'I need cloth, lots of cloth and water. Bring back with you healthy girls and women…anyone you can find to aid these wounded. Go!' 

'Yes, M'Lady!' The woman scurried off into the night, and Eowyn quickly began to remove the clothing and mail from the weary soldier's battered chest. The more she removed the more blood flowed, and she bundled the shreds of the shirt up to press against the bleeding ravine in the otherwise pale skin of the soldier. Eowyn worked feverishly to stop the bleeding, and pushed her wet hair from her face with a bloodied hand. The soldier tried to cry out in pain, but it came out as only a whimper. 

He was losing blood too quickly and she did not have enough bandage to try and stop it. Eowyn watched him writhe in agony on the ground and her own insides clenched in horror and bitter sympathy. The Lady of Rohan folded her arms across her chest, soaked to the elbows with deep crimson stains, and shivered. She knew not what to do. 

Her fingernails grazed the thick material of her cloak that she had regathered around her shoulders for shelter from the rain, and Eowyn felt sick with guilt for being so selfish. She wasted no time and pulled the long garment off of her shoulders and gripped one side of it with an iron hand, then tore the other half into strips both long and wide. 

As the minutes rolled on she fastened it around the festering wound, and called out through the shield of rain to Ganha. The guard trotted over to her; he also looked exhausted and spent from the hours of aiding the wounded and pulling them inside the gates. He may have even fought a few of the Orcs while defending the gates. 

'Get them out of the rain!' she shouted. 'Get them inside these people's houses!' 

The rain did not let up, and the soldiers bled. 


	5. 3012

A/N: I sincerely apologize for the wait. Lots of stress. 

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**Chapter Five**

_'His fever has not died.' Ioreth folded her hands upon her apron and kept her grey streaked head down to avoid the eyes of the Steward and his wife. 'If it does not cool he will not make through the night.' His mother stifled a sob by covering her trembling mouth with a pale hand almost invisible in the dim torchlight of the hall; and she stepped back into the comforting shadow of her husband. Denethor reacted only with a mutter and a curse, and he laid a rough hand over her shoulder in shallow console._

_'What is there to be done?'_

_'We must keep him cool,' Ioreth's words were simple and efficient. 'Nothing more than the light of a candle in his room, and the windows must be kept open. I will see that fresh wet cloths are taken to him cold every half hour to draw the fever down from his head.'_

_Finduilas nodded wordlessly and closed her eyes tight to keep her tears in check. Denethor's hand relaxed and gentled as it moved slowly over her back in light circles. Finduilas murmured quietly, 'I will stay with tonight, my lord.'_

_'Nay, rest, Finduilas and allow the Healers to care for our son.'_

_'Boromir will be alone,' Finduilas' grey eyes glimmered with tears, and her voice trembled in her aching throat. She turned to lean into Denethor's broad chest. 'He fears the darkness, let me stay with him.'_

Boromir watched the carnage from his perch atop the steed he rode, clutching the reins with as much anticipation as the horse, which was blowing and stamping in eagerness to ride back out into the fray. Theodred lingered beside him, speaking words Boromir only heard as a blurred mass of sound. The plan was simple; he needed no more details, though the ever-proficient Theodred hammered it back to the men for assured comprehension.

_Our men should have stayed just another two days,_ he found himself thinking, frowning and closing his eyes. The combined forces of Faramir's and his men would have crushed these Orcs as water shattering a dam. Boromir silently cursed, reminding himself what he always did in the heat of battle – never dwell on what could have been; dwell on what is to come. It was the driving force in his life, to keep what was to come a glorious outcome for the world of men; it was what drove him through blood and sorrow, days of pain and despair. He was the proud Captain of Gondor. Naught but death would hinder him.

'If the Captain is right then our downfall will be the imperfection in the Eastern wall's structure,' Theodred sounded grim and tired as he directed with a mailed arm to the blur on the hill's horizon that was their vulnerability, and the riders nodded their understanding. 'I will take as many men as I can find to defend the Eastern side, and if it has not yet been discovered. Then we will see if we can mend it and escape with only a few men forced to stay behind and guard it.'

'My lord there is naught we can do to mend the weakness of the wall with so little time, and under such an attack.' One of the riders said quickly, and he sounded breathless, his horse twitching nervously. 'What do you plan to do in the stead?'

Theodred knit his pale brows in deep thought, and he shot a long glance to the very end of the field where a mob of grounded riders and Orcs festered at the Southern Wall – it was an attempt to drive them back out of the city. Orcs taller and sturdier in stature had gotten past the first lines when the gates had been opened, and were now turning back and trapping the men of Rohan between two lines of the fighting beasts.

'Boromir.' The Captain met the Prince's eyes in a lightening moment. 'I leave the southern entrance in your hands. Do you hear me? Drive them out.' Theodred reached over to clasp Boromir's forearm as if he did not fully trust that Boromir was listening and not completely focused on the chaos around them. 'I will drive them away from the eastern side but you must finish the job.'

At this Boromir nodded swiftly. 'Aye.'

Theodred's fingers tightened on Boromir's arm and he leaned close enough so that he could speak above the rain without being heard by the other riders, a forbidden expression of fear lingering behind the shield of his grey eyes. 'Also I have heard no news of my young cousin, he should be leading his men but they cannot find him. Would you keep an eye out for him?'

'I will find him as well.'

'Thank you,' Theodred gave Boromir's arm one last squeeze, and the Steward's son returned it. They split apart.

The prince once again held his weapon high enough to reflect the warped flashes of the lightening and colliding clouds above, calling the attention of his men to follow him to the Eastern side. Boromir paused for only a moment to watch his friend with admiration as Theodred reared and turned, charging to defend.

--- --- ---

Eomer did not remember precisely when the attackers had divided, but it was sometime after Theodred had given the signal to gather a large portion of the men – he had seen this from a distance at the midpoint of the first hill where he had been aiding Faramir, and when his cousin's cry echoed over the rumble of the clouds a ripple of comprehension seemed to go through the host of Orcs.

Their numbers immediately divided, and their efforts were three times as swift.

The young soldier felt the rush of air that always swept forward when the line of an army approached, and before he realized what was happening he had been slammed bodily into the rain and mud-slicked grass.

Since then it seemed as though his entire share of the battle had been fought completely from the ground, his back submerged in the gathering puddles while he fought the foes that would not allow him a chance to stand.

Fear did not seize Eomer when the booted foot landed on his chest and pinned him to the earth as enemy upon enemy rose up to replace the ones he slew – it was invigorating; nothing in the world satisfied him as the taste of his own blood in his mouth and the sound a sword made as it met it's match.

Even, during his desperate battle, when the iron shod foot connected with his unprotected jaw because of a miscalculated move in the wrong direction and spread a hot wet pain all throughout his upper body it only fed his vigor, and he found within himself an unimaginable strength and lust to keep moving, keep fighting, no matter what the cost.

Finally, when he managed to gain enough leverage on his elbow and snapped both feet out to crack against the knees of his latest attacker, his boots grated into the exposed brown flesh and ripped a roar of pain that was both satisfying and enough to ring Eomer's ears.

The Rider wasted no time and thrust his weapon forward, but once again the darkness distorted his perception of distance and he aimed far too low – instead of delivering a finishing blow to the chest his sword was driven through the thigh of the Orc, beside the bone, and the blade glinted on the other side when it tore the flesh.

The Orc jerked in this new agony and while Eomer frantically tried to remove his sword and strike again the creature found the awareness of mind to take this chance. He smashed the side of Eomer's face with a closed fist. The impact rattled Eomer's teeth and sent him back into the mud, dazed and dribbling blood from between cracked lips.

The Orc struggled to remove the firmly imbedded blade from his torn leg and keep watch of Eomer all at once, but Eomer allowed no such time for his attacker to come up with any plan. Weaponless, he tore his aching body from the ground and dove into the legs of the beast, bringing it down and hitting the ground with it.

His chin snapped up and his head back, sending a sharp sensation down into his knees. The Orc roared and scrabbled to shove him off, the long talons scraping his chest plate but doing little more than pushing Eomer back into the mud.

The man cried out wordlessly with effort when he heaved himself to his feet despite the resistance from the injured Orc, and stamped a booted foot onto its leg. It screamed above the roar of its companions when he reclaimed his weapon. Eomer swung his arms back to come in for the final stroke, but one of the powerful hands locked around his wrist and twisted before it fell. He was driven to his knees with a short, agonized yell.

Eomer's arm was twisted far behind his helmless head and his fingers numbed so that his sword fell limply from his hand. Desperately he threw a blind punch behind his back, and his knuckles cracked against the wound he had previously inflicted on his foe. But along with the shriek of pain came his own out cry when a bony knee struck the base of his skull.

Eomer felt the warm wetness spread from its base point, and then drip down the back of his neck along with the pattering rain. Darkness over came him, and he pitched forward.

When next Eomer awoke he was unaware of time or distance from where he was now and where he had been. His hearing crept back into his senses and the roars and cries echoed about the walls of his skull as he flattened both palms against the spongy ground and pushed himself out of the muddy water, quivering in effort and almost swooning again under the terrible throb in the back of his head. His pulse hammered in his neck, and all that convinced Eomer that he was actually alive was the pain, and the labored beats of his heart.

The fray seemed to have left the section of the gates he had been fighting at, and dead laid all around him. Eomer quickly sprang from where he had been laying, and a wave of dizziness and pain blackened his vision into little more than specks of light dancing with the falling rain.

The stench of blood and rain clouds filled his nostrils when he drew a breath, and nausea came upon him as a hard, heavy clench in the space between his stomach and chest. Eomer kept himself above the ground only long enough to hurl forward and gag. Vomit splashed the already water saturated ground, and he shakily dragged himself away from it. Several feet, perhaps, he crawled before falling forward again, still and silent as before.

Eomer lay still, conscious but unable to movie, and his face still pressed into the rain-slicked grass of his land and his eyelids fluttering back into that peaceful blackness. Another sensation of pain, though not deliberate, bit into the muscle of his calf – the feeling of hard, prodding fingers moving along his leg to get a better grip. Two more sets of hands came to each of his arms, and a terrifying realization dawned over the Rohirrim warrior. He did not have his sword.

'Move him – quietly now!' the voice above him was thick with accent. 'Softly as you can, we don't want attention drawn to us – '

'This one's not dead!'

Eomer's heart stopped when the thought crossed his mind that they may be referring to him. He was flipped onto his back as limply as a sleeping child, not even breathing – the sounds of a half-living rider barely reached his ears before it gave a short cry and was silenced. Voices began again.

'Take them out of the gates.' The one above him snapped, the misshapen mouth making the sharp teeth of the Orc grind together in a horrible sound. 'And no eating them until the other lads retreat!' Eomer's blood ran cold. It was true, then, that the hosts of Mordor consumed their foes rather than just mercifully killing them. Strong arms covered in a coarse gritty flesh wrapped around his chest and pulled him up to be dragged out of the open gates and then flayed for food.

Eomer lost all self control at the thought and he hurled away the fact that he was outnumbered three to one. He released a wrenching cry and lashed an arm out behind him, fingers scrabbling along the leather and metal bound back, seizing a strap and then tearing the creature away.

The Orcs seemed surprised but not unprepared. Eomer stumbled to his feet and forced the dizziness away, blinking hard and searching around him for anything sharp. Nothing. Nothing but dead soldiers and discarded shields. The Orcs had not been as moronic as he had anticipated and separated the weapons from the bodies.

One of the Orcs his size crashed into still-weak body and brought them both down into the mud. Eomer distantly thought that his ribs may have cracked, but the Orc was already raising one of the rusty flat blades high over it's head to drive through his chest.

He tore an arm free from under the other hand of the Orc and met the blade halfway, only allowing the tip to graze his chest plate and then twisting it to the side. Eomer managed to jerk his weight to the side and flip over so that he dominated his attacker. It took only a moment to kill.

Eomer snatched up the Orc's weapon the moment he was on his feet again, and spun around to face the others with a feral snarl. He charged onward viciously, driving through the red haze of his pain and crying out over the howl of the wind and the hammering of the sky.

Much to his surprise the rabble of Mordor did not scramble up to meet his challenge, instead they all fearfully yelped fled clumsily in the opposite direction, barely holding onto their weapons as they ran. Eomer stood, dumbstruck by this reaction and still holding the foul weapon of the enemy in his rain and sweat slicked fingers. Blood of his companions stained the blade, and when Eomer finally caught this he cried out in disgust. He threw the weapon to the ground with deliberate disdain, spitting on it when it hit the ground.

The soft ground felt far too hard when his knees cracked against it, but he began rummaging through the armor, shields and bodies for wherever he may have left his sword. The sight of the proud steel glinting in the flashing light above as it rest in a puddle was enough to bring a giddy smile to his face. He sheathed it without a second thought. Eomer also fit his discarded helm back over his wild mane of gold hair and came wearily to his feet.

He had been injured, but not to the point of having to crawl into a corner and wait the battle out while gingerly nursing a few meager flesh wounds (others, of course, would have taken the constant pounding in the back of the head, the loss of blood, and the blurred sight as a bad sign and sought help rather than leap head first back into the fray). Eomer only tore a strip from his tunic to bind the deeper wound on his arm, where the blood had not yet clotted, and gave a cry of disgust as he pulled it tight. The scarlet rivers slowed.

Through the darkness he saw nothing but a mass of thrashing beings, man and Orc, and the merciless rain and uneasy feeling that clouded his vision bore down hard. He stalked forward, knowing of only one location to seek aid from – the hill's crest, where Faramir kept the lines strong.

Eomer pushed past both man and Orc, and despite the earlier words of Boromir, felt a great rise of heated discord, and he snarled audibly to those around him. Theodred should never have opened the gates. It would finish them all.

The light of the moon wavered through the brief break in the ominous thick clouds, but just as quickly as it showed its head did it once again slip behind the heavy cover of black and grey.

--- --- ---

The chaos on the inner circle of the city had momentarily ceased, if one could call it as such, and Eowyn had made into one of the houses, staring out at the gates through the veil of rain. Voices cried out from behind the great walls, and the feeling of thick despair that always accompanied her when Eomer would go into battle was heavy over her heart. Her brother may not come back, as was always the risk he took, but it was the one thing besides her that Eomer loved in all the world. It was the one thing Eowyn was never allowed to join in.

Theoden would scold her for participating in such a bloody fray, this she knew, but a few words of concern from the uncle she loved was not a price too high.

Soldiers moaned in agony behind her, and those that were being aided on the field before being taken into the homes of the civilians cried out even more in jarring pain. Their wounds were bandaged roughly and quickly as possible by the guards and various older women of the circle, trailed by their daughters.

The warmth of a fire behind her was comforting, and it's heartful crackling helped drown out the roar of the battle on the other side of the tall gates where the men of Rohan defended it. The material of her dress had been pale and blue, composed of fine soft threads woven with gold.

Now it hung around her as a drape that was too big, tattered and dithered from mud and rain. Splotches of still drying scarlet blood marred it above all, and Eowyn inhaled deeply with a tired smile. Theoden would also scold her for ruining another dress.

Absently she gathered her sopping gold tresses behind her neck in both hands, wringing it out for no real reason except she needed to occupy herself. The heat from the fire mingled with the lingering cold feeling rainwater gives when it drenches one's clothing and hair and created a sensation that contradicted itself, giving her warmth and chills at once.

'My Lady,' the voice was deep, youthful and hard with suppressed words. It was Ganha, stiff and cold in glance with his disheveled hair hanging in wet clumps around his stern face, pale blue eyes expressionless as she spoke to her. 'It is late and cold. You have done many deeds this night, but you should be in your hall, out of the rain, away from the battle.'

'You are wasting your breath.'

'It is my duty to do so,' he reminded her, and Eowyn waved a dismissing hand before turning back into the house. Ganha followed, fruitlessly. 'My Lady – '

'If you are so eager to help then bring fresh bandages.' she replied shortly, and gave him an even stare before descending to a crouch beside a young rider propped against the bed where another injured man lay. She rested a warm hand on the young man's damp brow, seeking signs of a fever.

The skin was cool and clammy, and his chest rose and fell in peaceful rhythmic breathing. The rider looked only ten or so summers older than she, still in his prime. His eyelids fluttered, and then slid slowly open, dilated eyes focused on a point in the thatched roof.

'He stirs.' Ganha knelt beside her and waved a hand before the eyes of the rider, speaking gently in a quiet tone, 'Eodrec, do you know me?'

Eodrec swallowed and moved his lips very slowly, his words inaudible even when Ganha leaned down to listen closely. Sighing, the guard reached up to the table beside the bed and moved the lantern down to get a better view of the rider's injuries, but Eodrec jarred in reaction, and Eowyn pushed the lantern away.

'He is sensitive to light, that is good,' Eowyn breathed, though she motioned for Ganha to move the lantern back on the table. 'He will not go blind.'

'Eodrec…do you know me?' Ganha repeated, and the sullen dark blue eyes slowly slid over to hover on Ganha's face. He nodded, though he did not speak until he looked upon Eowyn. There was not one rider that did not recognize Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, and Eodrec smiled weakly at her.

'You are here,' he whispered hoarsely, and Eowyn returned the smile, moving his damp clumps of hair away from his blood-streaked face. Eodrec frowned at her. 'Why?'

'I was wondering that myself.' Ganha put in from beside Eowyn, but the young woman only began to dab at the blood on his face, giving a light shrug.

'You have your duty, I have mine,' she told him gently, and Eodrec silently kept her gaze. 'That you are permitted to do yours does not relieve me of mine.' Eodrec managed a grin in the boyish features, and Ganha snorted, but the hint of a smile could be seen on his face. Eowyn moved away. 'You should sleep now, Eodrec.'

'Yes, My Lady.' The young man focused on the ceiling again, his voice barely audible amidst the falling rain and crackling fire. Before Eowyn and Ganha stood to leave, however, the rider whispered in a painfully dry apology, 'I am sorry for your dress.'

'I am not.' Eowyn gathered the skirts of her tattered gown and stepped lightly away, eyes shining and her blood and dirt streaked features beaming in a smile. 'Sleep, Eodrec.'

As they approached the door Ganha still regarded her expectantly with folded arms and raised brows, leaning against the doorframe. Eowyn frowned at him as she took a seat on one of the neatly carved chairs, moving the heavy wet material away to free her shoed feet. She met Ganha's stare.

'I am staying. Accept it.'

'Very well.' Ganha snorted, looking out into the grim night. The canopy of grey clouds choked out the light from the stars and moon, and the battlefield was black. 'You are far too persistent, my lady.'

'Are you also persistent?' Before Ganha could open his mouth to respond Eowyn shook her head and held up a bloodied hand. 'Yes, I know, it is your duty. Why do we not call a truce, Ganha, and at least for tonight end this feud?'

Ganha regarded her suspiciously, but when she held a hand out – sideways, as no other ladies would – he readily accepted it and shook hard. Eowyn did not flinch. 'A truce then, lady, until this battle ends. I then reserve the right as your protector to report to your uncle whenever you decide to recklessly pursue battles.'

There was a startled cry from outside the house, the howl of a child too afraid and traumatized to even call for its mother, and then various other panicked voices. An older woman's voice rang above the shouts, desperately, and Eowyn maneuvered around Ganha and out of the house to meet them on the outside. The woman's wet face was red with efforted breathing, and she fell to her knees before Eowyn. Several small children were crowded around her, clinging to the black and grey skirts.

'My lady, these poor little children had been trapped in the midst of the fray!' she cried, and the children whimpered and stared up at Eowyn with wide, fearful eyes. Eowyn nodded slowly, catching the look in the old woman's eyes that told her what was not to be said aloud with the children hearing. Their parents had probably been brutally killed, and had not been within reach of hearing the calls when the gates had been opened to allow anyone still outside safety.

Eowyn covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes tight, grateful for the rain that hid her tears. Now was not a moment for weakness. She called sharply to Ganha, who hurried over at her side, fingers twitching nervously as they clutched the hilt of his sword.

Eowyn knelt slowly before one of the children and held a hand out. The little white face stared at her long, almost as if he were searching her eyes for intentions, and finally stepped closer to her. Eowyn smoothed his wet hair from his face, squinting at him through the rain and asking as gently as the noise would allow, 'How did you enter the gates? Did you slip in during the calls?'

The child shook his head, tears staining his eyes red but not falling, and his white face was splattered with red blood that was slow to wash away. Eowyn frowned, twisting to give Ganha a questioning look and then turned back to the little boy. 'Little one, I must know how you came here.' One of the children behind him cried out for their mother, and the old woman drew them closer, but Eowyn leaned in closer, intensely. 'How?'

'The gate,' the boy said quietly, and stuffed his grubby fist in his mouth to hold back tears. With the other hand he pointed into the green and grey distance, to where the gate stood on the Eastern side. 'The little door under the gate.'

Eowyn sank back on the balls of her feet, her heart dropping into her stomach. Ganha hesitantly touched her shoulder, having not heard the child over the rain, and queried as the children were lead away, 'What is it?! Are their parents dead?'

'They came in through the Eastern gate.' Eowyn breathed, coming to her feet on shaky legs with her exhaustion and weakness forgotten, her skirts clinging to her thin legs and doing nothing to evade the cold. She met Ganha's startled pale eyes and fumbled for the sword still hanging in its sheath at her side. 'The space cannot be larger than the amount of space it takes for a child to crawl through, but even a little breach can turn deadly,' her eyes flashed when she looked over to the Eastern gate. 'The children most likely lead the enemy there.'

'Surely the captain and his forces are guarding it?'

'At this time of night it would be impossible to see any trouble with the Eastern wall.'

'Then would that not also apply to the Orcs?'

Eowyn exhaled sharply and drew her sword quickly enough to have taken Ganha's head off without him even feeling the blow. 'Are you coming or shall I leave you here and have Runhelm and Celgin aid me?' Ganha watched her carefully for a moment or so, debating whether or not to truly aid the White Lady in endangering her life. He snorted, and drew his own weapon.

'We shall need their aid in any case.' Ganha nodded. 'I await your orders, lady.'

--- --- ---

Boromir was rallying a group of men down on the far side of the southwest side of the outer circle gate, that much Faramir knew. He had heard nothing since Theodred began gathering men to defend the Eastern side, and rumor was traveling quickly of a breach. Had the enemy broken through the inner city?

Too many had died already, and the thought that perhaps he had been holding the wrong end of the gates while the enemy had devised a plan withered his hope into little more than the natural instinct to survive.

But at the distant point below him Boromir raised his sword high over his bare head and cried out above all the wordless voices of the Orc mob, and Faramir gave a bark of heartfelt laughter. He raised his sword as if he were standing beside his brother, and the line of men he commanded focused on him in wonder, and looked to where he had his blade fixed.

Theodred and Boromir were shouting orders to the Riders of Rohan that still possessed horses, and through the grey Faramir saw Theodred lean over and speak to Boromir, and Boromir gave a swift nod of affirmation. Theodred clasped his arm, and then broke away in one word to Brego.

All the Rohirrim defied the rain and chaos, rising a cheer from even the deepest cornered mobs of battle as Theodred galloped past with his men in his stead. A simultaneous flash of all swords on the field that night gleamed in the air as they were struck with the vanishing moonlight.

'The Prince!' They cried, and Faramir thrust his sword forward in the Rohirrim salute, shouting with the single voice of the Rohirrim Riders, 'The Prince!' The Rohirrim would rise.   
  



	6. 3012

**A/N:** It's been something like nine months since my last update, but I'm glad to say that this story is breathing again! This chapter is half the length of my usual chapter, but it's only because I've got a lot to do and I just want to let this story surface again, especially since The Return of the King is about to hit American Theaters. Please enjoy. Sorry about the wait. 

--- 

**Chapter Six**

Celgin and Runhelm had been almost as reluctant as Ganha, but neither had the courage to debate Eowyn. She knelt in the sopping wet grass, her light dress soaking the mud up as if it were a sponge, and she spread the armor she was given across the puddles. It was just the bare outer pieces, easy enough to strap on over her clinging drowned dress, but Eowyn was given no helm – none could be spared, for all others that were available were used to collect water.

'Oh, don't stare,' She said sourly, accepting a sword from one of the women attending the wounded soliders, and sliding it into the sheath with a ring of the steel and a quick spray of raindrops. Ganha only raised his brows, his fist curled around the hilt of his sword as he waited for her to prepare, and when she finally began stalking onwards he followed. Eowyn passed the woman that had taken the children from the Eastern gate, and paused to speak with her. 'We will do what we can to the Eastern gate, but should one of us not return in half an hour, send two strong ones back our way  - arm them.'

'Aye, m'lady.'

'Very well, you men,' Eowyn gestured to the three young men that stood around stupidly and watched her bring order to the situation. Stories obviously would make it around the kingdom of the White Lady's kindness and courage, but not as far as this. Eowyn was willing to take risks for them, risks as far as literally going up to the mouth of the enemy and drawing her own sword to fend it off. 'Follow me.'

Her commanding air was what hurt Ganha's pride at first, the sheer nerve of a seventeen year old girl that lead her to do things like this. If her uncle could see her now, if her brother and the Prince could see what their White Lady was doing now they would most likely have scolded her, but in their hearts been awed by her courage. As he watched her stride ahead of them, a hand before her eyes to block the singing rain and her golden hair twisted back into a knot at the base of her neck, he recalled hating her for what she was. A woman, a noble woman, never having to fight nor worry of her own hunger or suffering – but now it had occurred to him that she did not worry for her own, she worried for a kingdom's suffering, and for that suffered ten fold herself. 

He stepped up faster, to meet her pace, and she gave him a sidelong glance. Ganha only kept his eyes forward, and there were no words between them as they made for the Eastern gate. The wind beat around them, and the rain threw itself forward in bursts of a thousand tiny, cold needles, all coming toward them at once as if specifically targeting their will. 

It was a near ten minute walk to the other gate. The hill sloped into a downward curve, with the rain slicked grass whipping at their knees and the darkness almost concealing the full height of the wall. Occasionally lightening would flash overhead and send a brillant blue over the scene, flickering the image of the gate and the empty plain around it. In those seconds Eowyn was able to see that nothing had yet been breached, but it was clear where the children had entered. 

'There,' she cried over the rush of the wind as it whipped her hair around her face like little gold lashes, and she pointed to where the ground had softened enough for the wood to lose it's firm setting into the soil. It had begun to rot on the ends, thus losing stones as far as three feet up the surface area. It was plain and visible to the naked eye. Ganha went before Eowyn this time, making the last few yards down to where the gate met the earth. 

Upon closer inspection dark red blood shined in the thin light of the moon overhead, streaking the tips of the grass and the end of the rotting wood. Something had successfully crawled through, but now without great cost. It had probably been one of the parents, trying desperately to push their child through the hole before they ran out of strength.

Ganha crouched down, then resorted to kneeling on the ground and inspecting the hole for himself. Eowyn and Runhelm gathered around him, and watched as he prodded the soft wood and loosening stone with his bare fingers, frowning in displeasure. 

'What is it?' Eowyn asked, and Ganha lowered himself even further to the grass, trying to get a look out.

'It is worse than I had anticipated, m'Lady,' His voice was grave, and muffled by his position. 'We'll need more than stones and wood to patch it up, that is certain. Tar and time to dry is what it truly needs, but…' He trailed off, and shrugged one of his plated shoulders. 'For now stones will have to do, but they will not hold.'

Eowyn came to her feet again, her boots scwelching the soaked ground as she moved around Ganha's prone form. She searched for anything that might be of use. Nothing around them, of course, but grass and rain and darkness. She exhaled sharply with fatigue, and ran both bare, white knuckled hands over her plastered dark gold hair. Fate seemed to be working against them entirely, and Eowyn had already admitted to herself that she was exhausted. 

There had to be something useful back in the center of Edoras, anything to put in front of the gaping weakness of the Eastern gate. Eowyn felt the eyes of the three young men looking to her for the next step, and she felt naked. In a single night she had given the huddled, frightened people of Rohan reason to believe in her, reasons she herself did not even understand, but all the while she felt her confidence slipping. How her brother – how her _uncle_ managed an entire kingdom boggled her mind. So many people to care for, so many faiths and hopes to keep alive, and they all rested on the narrow width of her shoulders. 

Eowyn turned to face them again, willing herself to continue as her brother would. She nodded to Celgin, and the awkward young man straightened at her order. 'Go back to the city and fetch as many young boys, strong boys – anyone strong and healthy. Bring materials to patch this with, you should find _something_ in there!' 

Celgin squinted at her, cupping a hand over his eyes to block the rain. 'What of you, m'Lady?'

'Staying here,' Eowyn called, her bloodied dress whipping to one side and exposing the swell of her hip. 'We're armed, that's good enough should any try and enter – one at a time is the best they can do, Celgin, now go!'

Celgin nodded, pressing a fist to his chest before turning on his heel and sprinting back to the inner circle. 'Aye, m'Lady!'

'Do you see anything?' Eowyn then asked Ganha, who was still trying to move further into the gap to widen his range of vision. The otherside of the gate was just as dark, and no shadows were cast to betray any danger. He shook his head, face twisted into a scowl as he dipped his head to go beneath the arch of the rotting gate. Eowyn bit her lip, her fingers twisting apprehensivly into the folds of her dress as tried to crawl through the hole in the wood. 

'Wait…' He whispered, and Eowyn felt herself freeze from the balls of her feet to her hips. The sound of the rain and the battle had died when they came closer to the gate, as it blocked off the wind and roar. The air was just tense, and fearful. 'I see something moving – it could be another child.'

'Ganha, come back,' Eowyn replied harshly, taking a step back against her will. Her heart pounded. 'Ganha, get _back_!' She felt herself snap, but he held a hand up in gentle defiance.

'Just another moment…it's…injured, I think…' Ganha tucked his shoulder and ducked closer to the ground, extending an arm through the hole of the wall. Eowyn felt her legs shaking in anticipation, wishing he would just pull back and back inside. The rain misted down on them after so violently hitting the gate, and Eowyn looked up for only a moment to watch it – then Ganha cried out. It was a sharp, single cry of agony, and his body jolted. 

'Ganha!' Eowyn didn't even hear herself scream his name, didn't even feel her knees plow into the soft earth as she rushed down with Runhelm to pull Ganha back to safety. She clutched his elbow and pulled, but something had him on the other end. He cried out again. 'Ganha!' Eowyn sobbed, and opposite her Runhelm pulled his sword out, thrusting it blindly beside Ganha and into whatever was holding him. It shrieked – an orc – and Eowyn was able to pull Ganha back. 

The sight made her knees melt into useless liquid, and she collapsed into the puddles, shaking hard and covering her mouth with a bloodied hand to unconciously stifle her own sobs. Blood on her hand, warm against her cold skin, it made her sick to her stomach. A long, jagged blade of an orc had been thrust up into the underside of Ganha's armor, somewhere by his ribs. Eowyn didn't know where, she only knew that he bled profusely, and the look in his eyes was of unbridled, naked fear.

'My lady!' Runhelm shouted a quick warning, and Eowyn thoughtlessly threw herself over Ganha to shield him as Runhelm swung his glinting blade into the gut of Ganha's attacker – the hole in the gate had been made larger, big enough for them to start crawling through. Eowyn ignored the hot blood that soaked into her sopping dress, steaming, hot against her skin and pressing into her stomach as she wrapped both arms around the young man and pushed her knees against the mud, moving away from the gate. 'M'lady, they found a way through!'

'Hold them off…' Eowyn cried weakly, not caring if he even heard her. Of course he would hold them off. Her tears mixed with the rain making rivers down her pale face as Eowyn stared down at Ganha, oblvious to Runhelm's battle before her. Ganha still had the blade deep into his side, and the handle bobbed up and down with every rattled breath he took. Blood oozed around the brown, twisted metal, and Eowyn gently wrapped her bony fingers around the hilt. Ganha moaned, but she didn't look into his eyes. 'Ganha, please hold still…'

Ganha's reply was his raising his to look at his wound, and whimpering in pain and fear when he saw how deep in the blade was. Eowyn freed her other hand to push his head gently back down onto the grass, and cover his pale eyes with her shaking hand. He cried out and arched up against her as she began easing the blade from his side. Eowyn clenched her teeth so hard it made her jaw and skull ache, tears blurring her vision as she slid it out of his body, from being jammed between his ribs and flesh. It came out. Eowyn tossed it aside, and Ganha gasped deep in his throat when bright red blood began flowing freely from the wound.

Eowyn never thought a person could have so much blood. It was everywhere, over her arms, the front of her dress, on her face, on her neck, all over Ganha. It pooled around him like the rain, warming the puddles and staining the ground a horrible dark scarlet. She pressed her hands to the gaping injury, and the blood still flowed between her white fingers. Eowyn seized Ganha's shoulder and removed the pad of cloth from beneath the guard, momentarily pressing it to the wound. 

'Hold it there,' she told him, leaning over his scared face and guiding his hands to hold the pad onto his own side. He nodded, and choked out an affirmative reply, his green eyes darkening but remaining locked with hers. They were frightened, so frightened. Eowyn ached to comfort him, but only stroked the side of his wet face before rushing to the skirts of her dirtied dress. The outer layers were thick enough to tear it once around, and she did. 

She held one end down with the weight of her knee, and with both of her hands yanked upward on the fine pale material. It ripped loudly, and she continued to pull until she had ripped a long strip that winded around her legs, up to her mid-thigh, leaving only her underskirt to warm her legs. She could not care. Carefully Eowyn turned back to Ganha, whose fingers had loosened their grip on the bunched up cloth and could not help but let the blood escape. 

'No!' she cried, moving over him again and slapping his pale cheek with her bloody hand, leaving a print on his face. 'Ganha, no! Come back, Ganha!' Eowyn sobbed, and Ganha's eyes rolled around to try and focus on her again. He moaned. 'Ganha, do you hear me?!' Runhelm cried out behind her. The sound of a body dropping to the ground only briefly caught her attention.

'I hear you, Lady…' He said softly, thinly. His voice was barely above a whisper in the cold night, but his eyes found hers again. Eowyn brought his hands back to holding the pad to the injury, and she squeezed them hard. 'I hear you.' He mumbled. 

'Ganha, listen to me. Hold this here, I am going to wrap the wound tight…' She said urgently, but his face was relaxing. 'Ganha!'

'Yes, m'lady.'

Eowyn released his hands and stretched her skirt material over his torso, holding it tight on one side of him and pulling it around to wrap it once. Twice. Three times she was able to pull it under his body and over again, and knotted it at his ribcage. The blood seemed to have stopped then, and Eowyn moved back to cradle Ganha's face in her hands. 'Ganha,' she called, and he looked over at her again, his face glistening with raindrops but also ashen pale. 'Ganha, stay awake…do not go to sleep, I swear to you,' she gasped, stroking his hair back from his creased forhead. 'I swear to you I will see you safe.'

Runhelm cried out again, and something crashed hard into the wall. Eowyn whipped her head around to see over her shoulder. Another orc had had entered, and from the sound of it there were ten more behind it to take it's place. 


End file.
